The tattoo artist on the corner of Davies Street says “Please.” “Please let me write something on your body.” After a while, the needle doesn’t even hurt, he promises, your skin just sort of goes numb. I look up at … Read More
The Date “I guess I just don’t know how to deal with loss.” “No, yeah, me neither.” My date had been crying for most of dinner, and I was kind of getting sick of it. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. … Read More
If you ask me about the next day, though, and I mean the day he killed himself, I won’t be able to tell you anything. I don’t remember. But if you ask me about the day before, I can tell you how Carrie looked in the muggy evening light, how the tips of his hair curled with sweat, how a cluster of pimples settled above his left eyebrow like a constellation.
When I was fifteen, when my hair was growing down past my collar and my face was fixed into a jaded smirk, Mom and Dad decided it was time to get out. Out of the city; out of sinful, glorious … Read More
“She never quite found the words to explain it, but her tears didn’t come from a place of empathy—rather, they reflected something missing inside her.”
