Aimee Parkison

Woman Comma Mother

She says don’t you see the little nooses like party bunting? She says don’t you see the red velvet cake like so much blood? The fire is going. Glowing blue. That’s the hottest, you know. Of course, you know, you have experience with this kind of thing. The charring of...

Instagram Story for Lovecraftian Town

Time for something not entirely serious. What a marketing clip would look like for a Lovecraft type city, hoping to ramp up some tourism. I threw it together with one of my graphic design apps. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpLhhuEG9W8

America is a belt rusting still on the rack

Scorch became a town beset by famine arranged in tumbled bouquets. Children learned to inhabit dead sunflowers, heads drooping in deference to eternity before learning any alphabet - sad army of no emperor, not marching. Seeds set to drop before spring's yellowing...

Final Admission

Amit kissed me for the first time, at the Tacky Mirage Cafe. It was mid October, and there was a small batch of high school kids who came in. They were on their Homecoming date, so I offered to let them have our booth. "That was generous, love," she said. We were in...

Uniformity of Taste

Fingers shudder a soundless strangle, steam thick with the shake of the lens holds crooked images meek with cheap moans entombed within the skin of a hotel as old as its floating daguerreotypes. I chasten as a looter, a blackguard, a scoundrel ghosting money out of...

Arrival

I wish the ambulance ride would last forever, or at the very least, all afternoon long. I’ve finally convinced them to loosen the straps enough for me to move my arms, shift my body comfortably. I like this ambulance; it’s a nice one—shiny, clean and sparkling, with...

Best Laid Plan

It was a happy marriage, she reflected as she pushed her hands into the fescue grass. A good marriage. A content marriage. One she’d been lucky to find herself within. She shifted her butt and felt moisture from the creek dampen her jeans. She was surprised how much...

The Farm

From the top of the Farm’s rusted water tower, Seth watched a red SUV bump its way down the gravel lane toward the gate. The path was overgrown with brambles and thistle weeds; barely visible were the old gravel tire grooves from back in the day when the Farm allowed...

Sororal

Sister Sister always takes the front and makes me ride in the back. Sister with her doll that’s a ghost of her, ghost of me, held tight in her hand like she’s never going to let us go, my gaze fixed eternally on the back of her head, O Sister Sister her bunny rabbit...

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