fiction from me

“I need to change my ticket,” I say to the only person there, a woman wearing glasses with chunky purple frames and eye shadow that matches. She looks at my passport, wiggles her fingers at me to hand her my credit card.

“You know you could have done this online,” she says, handing me a receipt.

“It’s important for me to do in person,” I say, as she spins her chair away from me, Israeli for we are done here.”


My short story, “The Bullet,” is up now at Atlas and Alice.

to remember

“When anxiety sets in like a fever, cold and hot waves, chills, be calm. Know it for what it is: anxiety. Do not explain it away by blaming any particular incident, experience, for then it becomes magnified. When depression suffocates you like a London fog, think that the cause is not as great as you may think. A small defeat, a small frustration, a small discord may set it off. You must see the transitoriness of moods. Beware of exaggerated reactions to harshness, brutality, ignorance, selfishness. Beware of allowing a tactless word, a rebuttal, a rejection to obliterate the whole sky.
Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 3: 1939-1944



I woke up at 340 am and moved my pillows from one end of the bed to the other and propped the window open with a cup.

I bought two cans of cranberry lime seltzer and some double a batteries and a coffee.

I had a dream that I was part of a family whose home had been invaded by people who intended to kill them all…eventually. They were very strategic, slow moving murderers who for some reason did not care if we left the house.

I am worried about the cat.

I spilled coffee on my sheets and slept on them anyway.

Every single day, when it begins to get dark outside,  I want to throw myself in front of it like it’s a car I could possibly stop from moving without killing myself in the process.

Everyone’s hair contains static electricity.

Last Thursday I cried in the ladies’ room in the basement of College Hall, next to the men’s room, which is supposed to be haunted by an angry male ghost. A bathroom is a strange place to cry, especially if you know the crying you’re doing isn’t done, that it could restart, and restart and restart, now, again, again.

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