Fiction

That's what the pandemic viral desperados did to us, a chance to cry like never before longer besides sending us six feet under. It emptied our shared vanity, singling our lachrymose ducts, victims in our own ceremonies, and uncompromisingly masked for keeps.

I look at Bernardo, trying to figure out if he’s seeing the old gringo too, and reassure me that he’s not a figment of my imagination. But my brother is frozen to the ground like an ice statue.

My life’s course—my separation from most people, my extinguished hopes, the accumulation of final betrayals—seems almost preordained by the place where I first drew breath...

Graffiti magically appeared on the walls of the federal detention center: "FUCK ICE" and "DEATH TO ICE" and "FUCK DONALD TRUMP" but also farewell messages like "LOVE YOU DADDY."

One just isn’t oneself without the mind, so I realized I had better go find it. But where? Somehow, I sensed through some profound connection that my brain had wandered far, far away on a grand adventure through obscure corners of the universe.

In Alapawan prison, most of his cellmates were “separatists” advocating for the independence of Taiwan. They were able to leave their cells to do odd jobs, like cleaning restrooms, laundering clothes sent to the prison, or growing vegetables on the empty field next to the prison.

I am at the brunt of a despicable person’s mouth motoring vile and hurtful words this person uses on me just like a barf bag to pour out all his misery into me and it’s true that I am nothing to him but a barf bag who is on the receiving end of his abuse he receives from others then releases them into me