Fiction

Dissolve Cut

for The Suburban Review (paywalled)

“Thirteen years after his murder, which occurred on his thirteenth birthday, I dreamt I was back in my childhood home with my brother Alexander. For both rational and irrational reasons, I cannot bring myself to believe in coincidences. So, considering that he appeared not the way that I usually remember him—bedraggled, strangled, bruised—but rather the way I have tried to remember him—golden hair brambling in the wind as he dashed down the driveway, his favourite sports jersey rippling, loose on his small, lanky frame (mum bought it two sizes too big under the auspice that he would fill it when he hit his growth spurt); considering that until that night I had not dreamt of Alexander nor our childhood neighbourhood once since his death, despite the shadow it has cast across my life; considering the perfect alignment of years and date and age; considering all that, I could not help but interpret the dream as a signal.”

Movies

for Babyteeth Journal

“We track down through the projector mist toward the person. Growing close, we tilt forward 90-degrees, coming to a stop on a close-up on the person’s face. It is you.

You are unblinking. Bathed in the light of the screen, your eyes stand out. Glassy. There’s a waxen quality to your skin, which is paler than normal, like you have been in the dark for a very long time. It is unclear if you are aware of your surroundings; we passed directly through your field of view, but you did not react. If not for the steady rise and fall of your chest and the flick of your eyes as you track on-screen movement, we would think you were dead.”

It’s So Easy to Leave Me (Touch Me)

for Going Down Swinging

“The cynic in me says he just wanted an excuse to call the wedding off. Of course, I didn’t like Cats. I was never going to get Cats. He knew as much – he knew. 

The optimist in me counters: that’s something someone who doesn’t get Cats would say. I have a heart that’s all right angles. 

Once I heard Herbert say Cats was bad art but good entertainment. I always thought Herbert was a good writer but a bad critic. While I loved him, I couldn’t comprehend him. I was always trying to figure him out. What’s the opposite of a right angle?”

“A week later the University closed, who could afford tuition? Bryony, like many other academics, lacked skills for “essential work” and was press ganged into the newly formed Manual Pollination Corp. You were lucky. Your background in the medical sciences landed you a job at the hospital. You joined just as the first cases of Pollinator Syndrome (the news called it “The Buzz”) were recorded. The Buzz is a form of Essential tremor bought on by vibrations of the pollen brushes. They started out mild but developed into severe Dystonic tremors. Some days Bryony would buzz for hours after she came home from her shift.”

The Empathy Lecture

for The Tiny Journal

“We moved in on the same day. His palm was sweaty, and he shook my hand too long. ‘Hurt, Carter Hurt’ was how he introduced himself. Like he was James fucking Bond. The only thing we had in common was that we both ticked “night owl” and “snores infrequently” on our roommate surveys.

‘We both like movies’, he pointed out. This was untrue.

Hurt, Carter Hurt liked movies. I liked film.”