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Friends & Enemiesexpand_moreThat’s what I want, to feel terrified, excited, and free, all at once.
It was like a scene in a movie; it didn’t seem real. The man kicked her.
Sonja slapped her sister. How could she shed tears for the past?
Sonja slapped her sister. How could she shed tears for the past?
Narrative Prize and Pushcart winner Anthony Marra reads “Chechnya.”
The place your truest self inhabited was the place you could not bear.
Betsy recoiled, understanding instinctively what was to come.
People only see that side of him. He is still a boy, learning to be a man.
In the street waiting for a cab, Ann’s boyfriend entrusted me with the story.
I knew my father started the fire. It’s not the first place he’s burned down.
I would chase it to the shores of the lake where the killer waited.
Getting over being drunk makes you wonder why the hell you did that.
No salt tears, and a continent between her ashes and Father’s.
He drowned under a different name, a fake name chiseled in German.
It whispered a promise of great wealth, and I was listening.
“Come here, my good child; sing me Pergolese’s Salve Regina.
A high roller gave her money to stay in his room for the weekend.
Despite cell phones, they seem connected only by smoke.
“Clean up this mess!” I tell the woman. “How can you live like this?”
Tonight these writers lower their eyes and silence their words.
Staring down the barrel of a black gun I forget I’m no longer just a boy.
His beginnings, his genesis as a writer, and the fateful connections between life and art.
“It’s out of the question. It’s a waste of your time. And my money.”
If I had been blessed that afternoon, why did I lose my tongue?
I was tracing my finger along his hoodied back, to draw the route.
Mostly, 90 percent of the time, the big ones trigger the bad attacks.
Did you hear about the candidate who grabbed Hugh’s dick?
Of the sixteen candidates only eight would make the final cut.
Death pointed the gun in his socket and blew off some of his skull.
