e c l e c t i c a f i c t i o n
(These are excerpts—click on the title to view the whole story!)
The Dream of the Artillero
The day after his strange dream was a Sunday. Angelo walked down to the stream to bathe with soap, which he did once a week. His mother liked for him to not stink at Mass, because the others would force them to sit at the back of the church. Also, he planned to go to the cantina that afternoon.
The Incorrupt Body of Carlo Busso
"Put it under your shirt," she clucked. "Don't let the world see it. It's so people won't give you the evil eye. They will resent you. Your beauty and your brain. They will wish you harm. This will protect you, my boy."
My Father's Paradox
Over the next weeks, my father found ways to get every famous person within ten miles of Harvard yard into his sample. John Updike, Ted Williams, Bob Cousy, Leonard Bernstein, J.D. Salinger, and Milton Berle all chose the red box. Helen Keller, as it turned out, was one of the few individuals who chose the second box.
I would sleep all afternoon, dreams coming to me of my little son. Nathaniel I called him, which means God has given. God has given me, a sinful woman, this little son like a golden bird with his bright eyes, soft mouth, his laughter every morning. God has taken away.
The Department of Secrets
The preamble of the Act explained that the object of the law was to protect Americans from personal secrets, "recognizing that they are always dangerous—dangerous when kept and allowed to fester in one's heart, but no less dangerous when disclosed and permitted to injure others."
My New Anus
Finally, one weekend while her parents were away, he came to visit her. They indeed had sex, more than once, in acts she related with stomach-churning detail. But by that Sunday, he was done with her and had stolen most of the family's electronic equipment, including her laptop. No more online hook-ups for poor Sally! A few months after that humiliation, her mother took her for an HIV test, and now she was here.
The Philosopher's Stone
In another part of the factory, large, fiery pre-modern machines snarled like angry dragons and spit out lead plates to be used in car batteries. Walls with asbestos sheeting blocked some of the heat from the machines but not the sound of the constant pounding. It was all for a good cause: to speed up America, to make America go faster and further in the fast lane and stay longer in its chariots.
Sunset Over LAX
The whore arrives at nine p.m., the hour when I typically schedule these sessions. She engages immediately in the type of small talk that I despise.
P. William Grimm
The Secret Life of Gods, Chapter One
Vincent had been job-hunting in Aukatabad for some time. He hunted on buses, for the autorickshaws were not exactly affordable, and his investment in a doctoral degree in biochemistry and post-doctoral work in pharmacology in a British University hadn't seen him anywhere close to a decent employment. He was in debt and in trouble. But Mou had a glow on her face that kept him going. She adored him for his decision to return from the west.
The Black Feathers Road
The arsonist declared in a quavering voice that he believed more might be learned from his case, a cautionary lesson that could help others avoid the mistakes he himself had made. Even in Dewa, society was changing, and new mores required new methods. He said some kind of confession might be produced by him, the details of his malfeasance captured in vivid language authentic with remorse.