734 words (4 minutes)
The spider isn't Real, of course. You won't find it in your bathtub, nor in your kitchen, nor in the shadowy corners of your poorly-lit basement. You won't clean any web it doesn't leave up attached to your ceiling.
It lives in your dreams.
355 words (2 minutes)
Something in this androgynous creature's eyes captivates me. It draws me in, inviting me to say hi and strike up a conversation.
"What are your pronouns?" I ask, after they introduce themselves, trying to be polite.
"We/us/our," is the response.
1032 words (5 minutes)
A bar isn't home. It doesn't feel like home; it can't be home. That's obvious, though, isn't it? Hardly an observation worth stating at all except to call attention to just *how* far from home it feels.
504 words (3 minutes)
I plan for only a brief visit at your house. I have places to go, but somehow you've talked me into staying for dinner. For drinks. For drugs. And now it's so late, and I'm in an unfamiliar place…