Showing results for Fiction
I return to the kitchen and walk in on Jodeci pulling a syringe out of her neck. She takes the rope from my hands and uses it as a tourniquet for my arm.
Kevin Richard White
The guy looks over and sees me eating my pepper steak. He is a hard blur of hair and grease. For one brief minute, I think he’s going to lasso me or ask me to come over and polish off a bag of pork rinds.
My husband is a proficient fighter. He catalogs the inconsistencies between the things I say and things I do. Against this tactic, I have no defense. For he is right, but what he fails to understand is the internal consistency in my inconsistency.
But I didn't feel sick anymore, was the thing. The sweating, capsizing sensation, the kaleidoscope of Muppets I saw square dancing behind my eyelids on that third night when it was legitimately bad, all that had been weeks ago and still everyone brought my mother food.
“Louis has stopped taking his dose.”
Sarah lowered herself to her knees in front of the fridge, continuing to uselessly rearrange the sanguinium.
“We think maybe you can spend some extra time with him, maybe get him to start taking it again,” Tim said. “You do great with Dotty.”
“Transgressive and immediate: you feel these stories shoot through and wrap around you.”
- Kyle F. Williams, Full Stop Magazine
“Lutz’s work is a marvel of the possibilities of language. Each of her sentences is an intricately crafted thing, deeply complex yet crystalline in its clarity . . . her command of each and every word remains supreme.” --Mira Braneck, The Paris Review Daily
"Worsted sees the undeniable unicorn of the American sentence sprout pearlescent, fractally chiseled wings and take flight like Pegasus over the letters landscape." --Big Bruiser Dope Boy