The violence in my stories is how I come to terms with the terrible things in the world. Trafficking, animal cruelty, war, and murder are terrible things, so I write what I write to come to terms with the ugliness of it all.… More

The violence in my stories is how I come to terms with the terrible things in the world. Trafficking, animal cruelty, war, and murder are terrible things, so I write what I write to come to terms with the ugliness of it all.… More

There it was. The Code. The modern-day oracle of all things irritating. A QR symbol glowing smugly from the TV, waiting to be scanned like some ancient relic from the Temple of Inconvenience. He stood. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”… More
My girlfriend and I made a deal: she could go back to Boston but I got to keep her head. She did the severing and everything—I just watched. Held her hand because I knew it’d be a while ‘til I could hold it again. It unnerved me how dry it was.… More
She looked disheveled, bloodless and tired. Like she no longer believed in the utility of the comb, or showers. But instead of burying her beauty, it intensified it. She looked like a lost soul everyone was meant to save; I was trying my best to.… More
I should have known the star buckos were star buckos, not comet miners or spacefaring surgeons, which is what they claimed to be. I should have known by their magenta trousers and face tattoos, their moon-rock nose studs and costume jewelry. I should’ve known!… More
My dad gave me eighty dollars for new textbooks. I used it to dig your grave.… More
Tonight love looks like burning worms and black smoke.… More
There’s a “best falls ever” compilation on mute. All I can think is this is the fucking life as a man jumps onto a trampoline and falls through it, keeps falling through the earth itself, forever, his whole body eventually shattered into nothing by the core.… More
They were really getting it going at the Duncans’. Going at it presumably as hard as good people felt they had the leeway to go in the presence of children.… More
When questioned, Blac confessed to being an artist, claimed to have loved his victims, which he considered his creations whom he desired to preserve in a more perfect, permanent state.… More
A dead man’s bullet holes leak feathers that form a vortex under a police helicopter’s rotor wash, making the scene resemble an eerie snow globe.… More