You notice little things about them first, like who receives notices from collection agencies, who still subscribes to magazines, who gets wedding invitations every month or two. You can tell a wedding invitation from a regular letter because people have gotten so fussy about weddings that everything from the stationary to the actual event is over the top. The envelopes are a thick cardstock, always, and usually have a sheen to them. Plus, there’s the calligraphy. Always calligraphy.
You drop the square, iridescent, hand-lettered invitations into the mailbox of a couple you assume to be young and well-liked. You rarely ever see them, but you’ve formed a pretty good idea about what they’re like based on the catalogs they receive: J. Crew, Restoration Hardware, and L.L.…
The Central Park Pact Series is a romance series comprising three books: Passion on Park Avenue, Love on Lexington Avenue, and Marriage on Madison Avenue. They center on three women—Naomi, Claire, and Audrey—who were all duped by the same man, Brayden Hayes. Claire is the wife, who believed her husband was faithful, if absent. Audrey was the girlfriend, who believed he was going through a divorce and would marry her someday. Naomi was the mistress, who thought Brayden was single, and having a fling. All three find out the truth when Brayden dies in a freak accident. The wife, girlfriend, and mistress connect and become unlikely friends, striving to protect each other in their future romantic endeavors.…
“If I open the door he’ll flash and fade like heat lightning behind a bank of clouds one summer night at the edge of the world.” —Mark Bibbins
All the men finally died, and that was a wonderful thing. I knew exactly where it would happen: the beds they never slept in. Their legs gliding like gazelles, their arms by their sides, then on their knees. They were all equestrian-themed, unicorn stamps on their hands that never washed off and too much tequila. All the men said their love swelled, in piles of wolf pictures never hung, and they waited for more secrets. They imagined themselves as hidden artifacts, either sacred or tired of humanity. When they died, thousands of purple flower buds opened at the base of a mountain and said thank you.…
My light has turned off. I shuffle it around, shake it, smack it a few times to try to turn it back on. It’s useless. The world inside this underwater cavern has now gone dark, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot see a thing. Even though I am wearing a wetsuit, I feel the 72-degree water pierce right through me, into my soul. My teeth begin to chatter, and a little water breaks into my regulator. My hands are trembling, and I wrap myself in a hug to try and get warm, but the fear of a possible death won’t let me raise my body temperature. My mouth has gone completely dry, even though I just took in a gulp of water about thirty seconds ago.…
The middle-aged man in the room looked up from the book he was reading. God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything.
I am here to take the resit exam sir. Pablo Paul. MIS0202. 0202. Oh. Yes. Resit. For the World Literature course.
Yes sir. Is this the right room? Number 77. Yes. Ah, yes. You’re three minutes late.
Sorry sir. I don’t know this building very well. The rooms don’t follow a sequence.
Yes. Not familiar with this building. I can, yes, see that from your attendance record. Yes. MIS0202. Only three classes last semester. Yes. Those too were probably proxy presences from helpful friends.
I am sorry sir. I wasn’t very well. Can we start the test?
In the bay, as always, I think about plunging into the water. Far out in the surf are porpoises, but no fish are biting. The path curved around the island and we looked into it: eyes into eyes, and holly branches improbably stretching upward where the sky is grey. Later, I had questions for you— like where were you looking when I was on the edge of the water. Why are we always standing next to each other, but not facing each other? Which part of the island is more stable. Which part bows to salt spray. When will the solid land become a series of smaller islands? In the sunken forest, the trees were pruned by saltwater. I feel very far away from my own body.…
