• Socket to Me by Glenn Gray

    Selma dug into her right orbit, using her curved index finger as a tool, and popped her right eyeball out of its socket. In the bedroom mirror, she regarded the black empty hole in her face, tilted her head. The mushy eyeball in the palm of her hand was lighter than usual, as expected, and […]

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  • Ingestion by Glenn Gray

    You open your eyes. You wonder where you are. A mirror. A small sink? The hum of an overhead fan. Now you remember. A dingy bathroom.

    Half your face is flattened along the wall. Wetness at the corner of your mouth. You are sitting. Wrinkled pants circle your ankles. You are on a toilet. Ass numb. Left arm tingly, asleep, dangling. Metallic toilet paper dispenser indenting shoulder flesh.

    You sit up straight. Shake your head, rub some life back to your facial musculature. You wonder how much longer you can do this. You hate it. Despise it. You hate yourself. You hate everybody and everything. But you know it’s your own fault. You asked for it. Wanted it bad.

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  • In The Usual Sterile Fashion by Glenn Gray

    Dennis settled in his chair, the scent of cauterized tissue lingering in his nostrils. Stacks of medical texts loomed on the wood desk. One of the texts, a neurosurgical tome, was splayed open at his chest. Beside that, a dictaphone with mini-cassette. He lifted the handset, began dictating the operative report. Surgeon: Dennis Falconcliff, MD […]

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