Fiction of the Day
Derrida in Lahore
By Julien Columeau
On the cold night of November 24, 1997, before Shahid disappeared forever, I thought I was his closest friend, his only confidant.
On the cold night of November 24, 1997, before Shahid disappeared forever, I thought I was his closest friend, his only confidant.
All along the watchtower—which he had never been on before and now that he was on it could not imagine what it was, or what it looked like, or what he looked like on the watchtower, other than the way he usually looked
The other horse traders are over there in the 7-Eleven. These horses are jittery and I don’t know how long I can hold them. That piebald one there—or is that a paint? It’s a Holstein for all I know, and
I am a student of low-affect living edged with self-deprecating irony. I am a character of lower-affect living a bit on edge with Mr. Irony, a self-deprecating therapist. A therapist of self-deprecation
Are your emotions pure? Are your nerves adjustable? How do you stand in relation to the potato? Should it still be Constantinople? Does a nameless horse make you more nervous or less nervous than
We’ve got to get these wagons unloaded. The channel, tubing, I beam, pipe, rod, conduit, connectors, the milled bombs, the forged doohickeys—I forget what they’re called, are those bells?
Father La Frambois was anxious to baptize me in the Missouri River, to change my name from Cuwignaka Duta, or Red Dress, to the holier appellation, Esther.
Walking the dog for Margaret (that yappy bastard, Tyde), Henderson had been going along the bike path in the park, clutching a paper bag (Oh, will you be a dear and get some of those, whatsit almonds
This day, a nation turns out for its own wake. The air is raw, but scrubbed by last night’s rain. Sunday rises, red and protestant, over the Potomac.
Say a boy is born in a middle-class suburb of the large Midwestern metropolis of C. Say he is born in the year 1989. This is the last of years. This is the first of years. This is the year the walls come down and the webs come up.
Oklahoma was where it all went wrong. Alex steered the juddering van to the shoulder, and, with his dog Munson howling along in the seat beside him, he cursed everything.