The wings provided a slight hump to her back, which she planned to conceal with hooded sweatshirts. In the summer she could use a backpack.

  She didn’t complain, though. It could’ve always been worse. She could have woken up a beetle.

  On “Home Alone”

  As my sister and I watched Home Alone for the umpteenth time, she casually offered, “If I were Kevin, I would have let those burglars in and told them that they could steal whatever they wanted, as long as they didn’t touch my stuff.”

  Astonished, I looked at her, trying to make sense of her comment. Then finally I asked, “Why?”

  She smiled, as if it were obvious. “They left that little boy behind and were a few hours along into their flight to France before they even realized it.”

  I allowed her rationale to wash over me—and agreed.

  Library Dreams

  He slept with a volume of Jorge Luis Borges’s collected short stories beneath his pillow and swore that it influenced his dreams. He would wander through labyrinthine libraries, walls of books guiding him to some unknown destination. Occasionally he’d see cats or sheep that moved like humans, but that was normally in the Murakami wing. Some nights he would fly up to the highest shelves, while other nights he would open books and dive into their liquid pages. In the end, he’d find his way back to his bed, where he would awake the following morning, still exhausted but satisfied.

  The Last Novel

  Malcolm Haley, after a full and rewarding career as a novelist, decided the last book he wrote would be self-published. He’d published the same way (traditionally) for decades, and while he was able to scrape out a living, he always felt like the final versions were in many ways compromised. This new book, however, found him at his most vulnerable. Not particularly concerned with sales, he did little in the way of monitoring its sales. Even more, he had trouble digesting the idea that his book would win an Alexandre Literary Award, the first ever in his entire career.

  Black Water

  She had nightmares of black water trickling from the hotel faucet, shooting out from the shower head, swirling around the commode, and even dripping from her toothbrush. It was always black water, and the water had always come from above, a tank on a higher floor, or perhaps the roof, containing the body of a woman thought to have disappeared.

  In her dreams the water would pool at her feet, before rising slowly up her calves to her thighs and hips, forming a black liquid curtain around her body. Then it would pull her until she slid down the drain.

  The Mystery of Death

  In the days leading up to Parker Madison’s death, he had visited several mediums along the downtown tourist strip. He wasn’t attempting to contact a deceased family member. No. His goal was much simpler: he wanted to determine what, if anything, happened after a person died.

  Perhaps he was a bit too skeptical to buy into anything the mediums told him, but he’d always been skeptical, even as a kid when he used to sit, twiddling his thumbs in mass.

  Now, he realized the truth came only when you found out things for yourself.

  And that’s exactly what he did.

  Famous Writers

  He longed to be one of those writers reviewers referenced when blurbing other authors. (“It’s like [famous writer/him] was writing alongside [famous writer/someone else]. That was the hallmark of fame, not book sales. Your name had to become enmeshed in the culture. The idea of you had to transcend who you really were. That was the only success worth striving for.

  Moreover, he cherished the idea of “esque” being added to his surname, thereby transcending literature itself. People would say the situation in which they found themselves was XXX-esque and he’d smile from a distance, as Kafka might’ve.

  Monthly Chips

  At 4’10” and with a young appearance, Janice was used to being carded whenever she entered the casino. After making her way past security, she’d head straight for the poker room to buy in.

  Texas Hold ‘Em was her game of choice. While dice had better odds, this was the one game where the casino didn’t factor into wins or losses. She simply had to play the seven people at her table.

  Legs swinging above the floor, Janice had learned that men often underestimated women, especially small ones.This table was no different.

  She’d easily make her rent money.

  Rodents

  By the third date, they decided it was time to put all of the cards on the table, warts and all.

  “I have a capybara living in my house,” she said,

  “A what?”

  “A capybara.”

  “And what is a capybara?” he asked.

  “It’s the largest rodent in the world…”

  She continued talking, but all he could see was her lips moving. Having grown up in an apartment in New York City, he could recollect times when the rat trap would go off and he could hear the rat dragging the trap.

  “Yeah,” he finally said. “This isn’t going to work.”

  The Legendary Battle of Two Emcees

  Legend has it that Oblongata Jones and Marz Banx faced off in the stairwell of the south tower of Wilder Projects back in 1998. Deez Nutz Even was the beatboxer, and before an astonished crowd of old heads and teenagers, the two emcees traded bars in the tradition of the legendary hip hop greats.

  There’s a rumor that someone recorded the battle on a mini-cassette tape, but it has yet to surface. Only the lucky souls in attendance can attest to the magic that took place there, words like liquid swords slicing the hungry air and transcending the art form.

  An Origin Story

  Tinesha quietly moved about her house, carefully carving a space for herself amid her seven brothers and sisters. The cacophony of raised voices, each one competing with the next for auditory supremacy, made it difficult for her to make out any individual words or phrases. She found a corner, usually unoccupied, save a haphazardly positioned jacket or backpack falling off a folding chair. She took a seat, her body so slight it barely disturbed the things around her.

  She wanted to tell her parents and her siblings that she had gained a superpower during the eclipse—invisibility—but she didn’t.

  Dictionary Examples

  Kakorrhaphiophobia (noun) - the fear of failure

  Example: Vernon often daydreamed about leaving the small town of Daily, Mississippi, and going to New York City, where he could hopefully one day build an acting career on Broadway, but his kakorrhaphiophobia prevented him from actually doing anything to achieve his goal.

  Schadenfreude (noun) - pleasure derived from knowing that someone has failed

  Example: Vernon’s sister, Vanessa, decided after she graduated from high school she would move to New York City to pursue an acting career, and while Vernon tried to be happy for her, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of schadenfreude.

  A Math Problem

  Alvin had one heart, and he gave it to Cherri. Cherri held on to it for three months before she decided to strap a piece of C4 to it and blow it up into 1,000 pieces, before walking away.

  A year later, Alvin meets Jane. They hit it off tremendously, and Jane begins talking about giving her heart to Alvin. Alvin, still, shell shocked from his experience with Cherri, is suddenly uncomfortable—because his heart was blown into 1,000 pieces.

  Questions: How long will it take Alvin to collect those 1,000 pieces, and could he give them to someone else?

  The Miniaturist

  The world he created was a tiny one, chairs smaller than nickels. The trick was to build each piece in proportion to the other. The table couldn’t be too high for the chairs; the microwave had to be a perfect complement to the stove in both size and color. Each piece had to be perfect.

  His daughter once asked him why he was so diligent with the miniatures that he built. Even though he didn’t have a solid answer for her, he realized that there was something peaceful about being able to control things in a world that felt random.

  Big Mama’s Recipe

  The turmoil within the family had always been there, brothers and sisters bickering and cousins ignoring each other, but Big Mama thought she could bring everyone together while she lay in her deathbed.

  They all agreed to put aside their grievances for the greater good of the family, and Big Mama transitioned peacefully.

  After her funeral and repast, however, the family members arrived home to find the canister containing all of Big Mama’s recipes had been stolen, reigniting the family war all over again.

  Eventually, a private investigator was hired to taste every sweet potato pie from Mississippi to Mississauga.

  Brunswick

  The rugged white men hung over the edges of their pickup, like sailors on some colonial vessel, the Gadsen flag flying in the breeze as it had, for different reasons, hundreds of years ago, while they thundered down the road, adrenaline pulsing through their veins, their brains already working to create the myth on which their actions would stand. The Black boy may as well have been Moby Dick, though his jaws held no bones, for these men had already decided they would hunt him until they caught him, thinking their ocean would one day be safe to navigate again.

  Hip Hop Is Dead, Long Live Hip Hop

  “What comes after Hip Hop?” my nephew once asked me.

  He fancied me a scholar of sorts, had listened intently when I talked about the four elements (DJ, B-Boy/Girl, Emcee, and Graffiti Artist)—plus knowledge and beatboxing—and how other previous Black artistic movements had reflected similar elements. He had heard the old heads whispering (sometimes shouting) that Hip Hop was dead. But how could it be when it affected everything around us: politics, religion, business? Hip Hop has a way of constantly reinventing itself, always poised to remix its past. I didn’t know what to tell him.

  “Nothing.”

  Adrienne Dorine

  Corliss had completely forgotten that she still had the doll. It had been buried in a box of things that she had carried from home to college to grad school to her first apartment to her second apartment and then to the home she shared with her husband and children. Little Sandy had been tunneling through boxes for fun and came across the Cabbage Patch doll.

  “Mom, look what I found,” she said, holding it up.

  Corliss hadn’t expected the feelings of nostalgia to rush over her. Suddenly, she was seven-years-old again, reliving the joy of Christmas morning in 1983.

  Nothing

  Seinfeld did a show about nothing.

  Wale did an album about nothing.

  So Raphael decided to write a novel about nothing.

  Of course, his nothing was nothing like The Nothing from Ende’s The Neverending Story (which, as it turned out, was actually something). No, his book would be aimless and meandering, but not in the way of a person wondering the streets of a city like Joyce’s Ulysses or Cole’s Open City. But the book couldn’t be gibberish like a random Beatles lyric or even a song by Oblongata Jones.

  He would just write whatever, if that were even possible.

  The Art of the Steal

  In the years before he was widely recognized as one of the greatest artists of his generation, he’d been a student at Ellison-Wright College, where, during the mid-sixties, while navigating the stacks of the library, he’d come across a collection of art books, most of which had never been checked out, though they’d been on the shelves for years.

  One day he appeared in a natty trench coat and slid a single volume underneath it. It wasn’t his original intention to steal the book, but by the time he’d graduated, he’d liberated the entire collection to his off campus apartment.

  .Paak

  In my dreams, I hear my dad’s percussive steps in the next room, darkness descending upon my mother. Her breathing and heartbeat are percussion.

  Years later, the phone ringing during class telling me my mom’s in jail, too—all percussion. Hands sorting cannabis, leaves rustling, percussion. Homeless, hands on the steering wheel, baby in the backseat, I hear percussion.

  Yes, Lawd. I hear the rhythms, feel them creeping up my arms and into my fingertips. I can no longer contain the music, and the moment my hands envelop the drum sticks, I am prepared to blast off into outer space.

  The Price Is Right

  When Oblongata Jones was three, he sat on the carpet of Ms. Tremont’s home daycare watching The Price Is Right, his LEGO blocks spread across the floor in front of him. He enjoyed the show, though he could only vaguely understand the games. He knew there were numbers and that some were good, while others were bad. The thing that stood out the most, though, was the music. His mind would wander as he listened and built tiny castles, not realizing that when he became a celebrity many years later, he’d begin his career by sampling the show’s musical cues.

  The Strange Animal Society

  The group grunted in amusement when Norma rose to her feet in her usual apodictic way and declared the gharial should be their animal of the year. Sure, there was some fascination with the reptile’s appearance, particularly the boss at the tip of the male’s snout, but not enough for the members to be thoroughly enraptured.

  The shoebill stork and the atretochoana eiselti (better known as the “penis snake”) were met with similar apathy.

  After great debate, and much to Norma’s chagrin, the group ultimately selected the homo sapien as its “Strange Animal of the Year,” given its perplexing strangeness.

  The Worst Graduation Speech Ever

  So as I close, graduating class of 2022, I want you to acknowledge your dreams.

  But when your dreams take control of you, they can turn you out. Have you on the stroll, on your knees in an alley or flat on you back with your heels up in the air or handcuffed up against a wall with a feather duster. Your dreams, taking long strokes on your soul, can have you looking in the mirror, scared, while standing in the back of a truck stop in Wisconsin.

  Dreams are a dangerous thing, if you can’t control them.

  Thank you.

  An Advertisement for Pet Toys

  As every Proximalian knows, humans can make horrible pets. Sure, they only need food and water and occasional light—maybe some clothing—but they’re moody and largely violent. They are more entitled than all other earthling animals.

  But we have a solution! Introducing Miniscreens™, the most effective way to keep your humans occupied. These devices are loaded with content of them doing humorous or horrific things to each other—and they love it!

  For a limited time, we are offering you every tenth device free of charge. Act now before we run out! You, too, can have a happy human!

  Bricks, Pt. 1

  Five minutes before Professor Samuel’s Intro to Sociology class started, all of the students’ phones suddenly powered off, completely bricking.

  “Professor Samuel, we have to cancel class!” one student yelled.

  “My phone doesn’t work, and I need to go get this checked on ASAP!”

  “What if my parents try to call me while I’m in class?”

  Professor Samuel cleared his throat. “When I was in college, we didn’t even have mobile phones, let alone smartphones.”

  They looked at him quizzically, the room so quiet you could hear a mouse urinate on cotton.

  Knowing they wouldn’t stay, he reluctantly dismissed class.

  Bricks, Pt. 2

  Professor Samuel nearly tripped over several students standing in the parking lot looking into the air. The thing hovered in the sky above the school. So much for the phones, he thought, as his stomach sunk.

  Suddenly, one of the students rose into the air, his movement so startling that those around him stood back. By the time anyone reached for the student’s dangling leg, he was halfway to the floating object.

  Once the student reached the object, both he and the object disappeared.

  Everyone stood frozen, mouths agape.

  Professor Samuel wasn’t sure, but the student looked like Wolfgang VII.

  Dreams of Home

  I pedaled my old bicycle to the end of my hometown street, and as I waited at the stop sign of Sixth Street, which intersected perpendicularly with Main Street, I had no idea of where I was going.

  I thought of my address, a place in Hampton, Virginia, and while I carried the maps of various cities in my head (Atlanta, New York City, West Point, Jackson [Tennessee], and Hampton), they had merged into a single place.

  A driver pulled up beside me and asked if I needed help.

  Confused and afraid, I said, “I’m just trying to get home.”

 

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