The Man in my Kitchen

There is a man in my kitchen. Or something like a man, or perhaps something like the shadow of a man. I can’t ever see him clearly, but he’s there, tucked neatly between the humming refrigerator and crumb-covered counter. He is always catching my eye; when I walk down the hallway, when I cross the…

Morning Spat

These are not productive days. These are the days that I sit in my cubicle, mindlessly typing shitty, witty one-liners for cheap plastic products. Occasionally, between my descriptive bullet points, I wonder what going crazy feels like. I switch to my “Desk Jams” playlist, go to track 16, and imagine my brains being blown out…

Pretty

There’s no denying she’s pretty. The type of pretty that takes hours of consideration, lotions, and a calculator to add up those calories. She moves through the world like it’s all just scenery; backgrounds for popped hips and glossed lips and if the lighting’s not perfect, her filter is.

The Entertainer

Kris looked around at white tiles, working hard to control her breathing. I’m fine, she repeated to herself. I’m fine. But she wasn’t fine. She could feel vomit pushing its way up her throat. Pressure built mercilessly behind her eyes before exploding in a spray of coke-colored chunks. Her body heaved as it violently rejected…

Intrusive Thoughts

They stood by the pool table and Meg ran her finger over the green felt. She wondered how long it had been there; how many beers had been spilt across its surface despite the laminated signs taped to each side: NO DRINKS ON POOL TABLE!!! Alan hadn’t listened. His glass sat a few inches from…

Bad Circulation

You think I have bad circulation. You leave the windows open all night, and I walk through the fresh air wrapped in wool sweaters and puppy dog slippers. You open windows, I close them and we smile politely at each other in the hallway. You demand, “How can you be cold?” And I touch my…