Literature™

by Guillermo Stitch

Experimental literature is a disaster. Ambiguity has been responsible for a number of deaths in the testing phase.

He took his own siGi™ from the inside pocket of his coat, twisted the mouthpiece and inhaled a long lungful of sweet Solace™. He had almost given up but had found he couldn’t quite get by without a little Solace™ from time to time.

“Why is he talking like that, honey?” asked Billy. “He’s lit. Too much Dickens and Dostoevsky and all that other trash.” Billy looked at the object. It was around eight inches by five and maybe one inch thick. It looked worn and old and the surface was covered with colors that would once have been garish. It had smelled of dust and there was writing on it but it was upside down to Billy.

Bringing a new context to so thing we all interact with is always a win. Books about books are good books (but not quite in an overly intertextual sence)

Every time he lied to Jane though, it felt like a kick in the belly. Lied about where he was going, or where he’d been or whether he’d seen her little brother. Or what he’d been doing in the bathroom for so long or why he’d locked the door.

Meta

She spat at him. There was nothing in it, if you didn’t count the hate,