Agent Jones switched to the big screen and a grainy video of MoMo sitting at his enormous desk, a swivel-hipped Elvis clock ticking behind his bewigged head. 'Death to the capitalist pigs! Death to yo...
Oh, hello, Dr. M says, shaking Balder's hand. Wonderful costume. I'm a bit of a role player myself on the weekends. Tell me, where did you get the helmet?
Evie wanted to cry. From fear. From exhaustion, yes. But mostly from the cruel uselessness, the damned stupid arbitrariness of it all.
I'm an oddity of one, my strangeness too complicated to explain or share.
Careful there, Poet. I might start to believe you.
God doesn't like lesbians, Grandma Huberman hised, throwing the magazine in the trash.Jennifer knew what lesbian meant, and she knew she probably was one. But she couldn't understand why God would hol...
Around us the night creatures have their say. We are surrounded by a symphony of crickets and frogs. Neither of us feels the need to speak, and I suppose that is one of the qualities I find comforting...
We are the dead. We are the keepers of the stories. We hold the history of blood and promises. We are speaking. Are you listening? Will you hear?
War. Gorgon spits the word. That is what they call it to give the illusion of honor and law. It is chaos. Madness and blood and the hunger to win. It has always been thus and shall always be so.
But...you could have whatever you wished.Exactly, he says, nuzzling my neck.
It’s Yiddish. Like…Ikh hob dikh lib. Evie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. What does that mean? Sam smiled. Maybe one day I’ll tell you.
Evie yanked him to safety by the edge of his shirt, ripping it. Thanks. You owe me a shirt, Sam said. You owe me twenty dollars.
Alliteration. It’s when you repeat the same consonant in a phrase, Memphis explained. Huh. I was hoping it was something dirty.
I'm not really sure what I am at all anymore.We're not just sashes and states, Nicole said on a sigh.Or gender, Petra murmured. Or bodies.
Perhaps this is how girls fall -- not in some crime of enchantment at the hands of a wicked ne'er-do-well, a grand before and after in which they are innocent victims who have no say in the matter. Pe...
A gentle breeze catches in the branches then and I hear it, soft and low, a murmured prayer--Gem-ma, Gem-ma--and then the leaves bend down and trail delicate fingers across my cold cheeks.
Yes, go on. Leave. You're always coming and going. The rest of us are stuck here. Do you think he'd still love you if he knew who you are? He doesn't really care—only when it suits him.
The Voice of TomorrowAmerica, America, will you listen to the story of you?You bruised mountains, purpled by majesty.You shining seas that refuse to see.You, haunted by ghosts of dreams,From the many,...
Mawah meenon ne le plus poohlala, I say with an affected bow.
If I have to look through one more of these, I’m throwing myself off that balcony, he moaned. Let me know if you need help, Jericho said.