It’s like an emperor’s new clothes thing. You can only see him if you’re cool. I pretend, I say, there goes that amazing Johnny.
I keep falling in love with cis people.
The flaring circle of her skirt is the unseen net of a spider’s web and your feet are glued to the floor, your tongue tangled in the stickiness of the threads, unable to utter a sound―unable to do anything but vibrate in the vain attempt to free your wings.
The tooth fairy was so sorry to have disappointed Micah, the note said; belief in another being was one of the last sacred things, and the tooth fairy hoped she had not damaged Micah’s in her.
We buried him out in the oilfields, where the wells thrum up and down in a steady metronomal pulse. We buried him in the clothes he wore. Into the grave we threw the gun, the sheet we wrapped him in, his passport, his collection of lepidoptera, shards of bathroom tile.