Explore
Illnessexpand_morePart of me wished I’d never tried heroin. The rest wanted to be high.
Mafia didn’t like me, except for the tickling game. It went like this.
I saw it on her face that day, a look like her heart would drift into the sky.
I lost myself in their minds: for the moment I actually became them.
I had to prepare. I had to be able to save us from what was coming.
I wait for the one thing that will change my life to arrive in the mail.
The moment in your drunk when you become rich! A connoisseur.
We chose to stay in the brutality of that night, even as the girls walked away.
“Now, just what brought you down all this way?” they wanted to know.
Love cannot override what cells do in the nighttime of our bodies.
After nearly a year of dating, I never stopped thinking of that other boy.
Never issue a dare to a dead person. They’ve got all the time in the world.
They’d been together an hour, but they were an easy threesome.
“As your brother, I ask you, how did you get that scar on your face?”
There would be no one to live for; she would live for herself.
He was warm that way, always tender, and maybe that’s the worst part.
He was trying to seduce me with his history, which was mine as well.
If you let me live, I will buy you beer whenever I see you in town.
I found myself alone on the train in possession only of Knoll’s journal.
No parent has yet been born who can save a child from childhood.
Her sentiments maudlin, malaise dripped like a fever from her pores.
Debra Hughes
The three of us share a myth, that I’m fragile as old bones. My parents speak in low voices—about me, I’m pretty sure. I watch the waitress, trying to remember how to flirt. I take off my mask.
He pushed aside a photograph of a man with a knife stuck in his eye.
He didn’t mind, he insisted, that he loved her more than she loved him.
He was ready to move on, to touch his patients, to cut them open.
Owen’s head throbbed, his ears ached, and an anvil sat on his chest.
She asked, “What’s the weirdest thing you can do with your body?”
How do our lives disappear even while we’re in the midst of them?
Who was responsible for my father not living up to expectations?
