Floating Staircase

by Ronald Malfi

It has been said that nature does not know extinction. In effect, it knows only change: nothing ever truly disappears, for there is always something—some part, some particle, some formidable semblance—left behind.

There exists no creation and, consequently, no destruction—there exists only transformation.

Age brings with it a certain kryptonite that drains our faith like vampires,

“Desiring privacy doesn’t make you weird,

I could feel my testicles retreat up into my abdomen.

once again my testicles performed their disappearing act.

I felt my testicles, those two wrinkled cowards, shrivel to the size of dried figs.

When you withdraw from the world, you find that the world withdraws from you, too.

Those are all good memories. If I could, I would wrap them in plastic and store them in some lead-lined safe in the back of my mind, protect them from the world.

I knew that in real life, motives were not as indispensable as they were in books and movies. In real life, sometimes people did horrible things for no discernible reason.

“I know what it’s like to sit awake at night thinking the thoughts of a haunted man.”

“We can put people on the moon and send radio pulses and whatnot into outer space, but we’ve yet to completely explore the mysteries right here on Earth, the mysteries right here inside our own bodies.”

“Sometimes when you follow something, you eventually end up chasing it.”

“Ghosts are no different than anything else in this grand universe. Why shouldn’t they exist? Are they not the spirit, the part that gives the body life? So that spirit must reside somewhere after the person has died.

Matter cannot be created or destroyed. So why should the soul be exempt from such laws of the universe?”

Thing about coffee, I thought, is that it forgives you no matter what.

It was a stupid damn thing—one of those stupid damn things that cause audiences in movie theaters to shout less than flattering names at the ignorant but well-meaning protagonist—but I had my reasons.

could feel my testicles shrink

February was angry and eager and shook us to our souls.

the only thing I took away with me was his comment that all good books were honest books and that all the rest can suck a fat one. I took half of that sentiment and filed it deep down in the writing center of my brain and have used it ever since. All good books are honest books.)

The water was so cold I could feel my bowels clench.