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“But you also don’t want to be rude, right? These are the women in your department.”
How much did I invent in the end? Probably a lot. Why do you lie so much? And about the weirdest little things? my mother always asked me. I don’t know, I always said. But I did know. It was very simple. Because it was a better story.
Think Great Thoughts, Dream Big Dreams like full worlds you could wander.
That not being understood is a privilege I can’t afford.
One time in Alaska, this bear followed me home from a bar and we ended up talking for a long time.
#same
I’ve never really not written, never not had another world of my own making to escape to, never known how to be in this world without most of my soul dreaming up and living in another.
Then one morning, six mornings later, I wake up from a terrible dream in which my hands are full of blood and white feathers.
She will not die, not today, and we thank the unicorn goddess to whom we quickly prayed.
.... One of them
One of them
“I get it, Samantha. Books, they’re like old friends.
Fosco looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Give up, the dark says.
“Being with you,” he says to Ava, “is like being in literature. I have no idea where you’ll lead me next. But I’m excited. My life could change. And I’m not alone anymore.”
“Samantha,” he says. “Did you or did you not enjoy it?” Watching them humiliate themselves and each other? Scream at each other? Hug only their own pink and white, scarred and bruised, sugar-bloated bodies? Read especially terrible work that they must have written in some sort of love trance? A work and a love that mocked them? Watch them get admonished by Fosco?
He smiles. Trust me. I take aim and strike. Ax to ax. The blade hits something terribly soft. I hear an awful crack. My whole body thrums with it.
“Oh. Probably just going home.” Our place. “Sit on the roof and celebrate with the raccoon priests.” Watch the dog become the wolf. Feel the wind cupping my face like the foresty palms of his hands. Stare at that patch of dirt in the corner of the garden where a flowering tree is now blooming. “Raccoon priests, huh? Sounds cool.”
