We jest, but this is about what it’s like anymore. More by Tom Gauld.
Dad was on big important phone calls all the next day, with bankers I think. Mr. A. Tranjay had said at dinner that his work would be done soon, and that was quicker than anyone […]
We are never as creative as when making excuses for why we can’t be. Akira Kurosawa, for those who don’t know, wasn’t just one of the greatest directors in Japan. He was one of the […]
No one called it murder. I suppose that’s what I remember most. They all went out of their way to avoid words that could’ve implied prior humanity, like “dead” or “body.” The incident report, which […]
Christine Adjani sat by herself at the round white table in the nook by the bay window, smiling in silence at old pictures of her and Declun, when the double doors across the living room […]
Anders Benet had murdered his mother in the womb. He had no memory of this, nor could he say he intended the woman any harm. Indeed, it wasn’t until his fourteenth year that he killed […]
Hours passed, and Xana realized neither of them had bothered to turn on the light even as the penthouse grew dark. And Ian hadn’t moved or bothered to go to the bathroom. He just sat […]