Hell Machine
Yellow ribbons unspool, disappearing with the curvature of the Earth. I eat yellow ribbons. The road is gobbled up before me. I drive these roads only at night. It is always night. Hubcaps dance, spiral-spinning. Tires scribble rubber-black meaningless symbols, translatable only from heaven’s perspective. Cliffsides hold back empty air, lest it rush in vaporous waterfalls to my mad lungs, drowning me dry. A lone shrub marks a passage through shiny gray guardrail taffy-twisted. Drunk at the top; sober by the bottom. Time is a window in a very high office building through which we...
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“I’ll cut you in half,” Todd said. “It’ll be fun.” Mariel doubted that. She doubted nearly everything these days. Which could get you into trouble. Big trouble. The world was run on beliefs. Not surface beliefs, like jumping off a cliff and thinking you can fly, but underneath beliefs. The stuff we believe despite everything we tell ourselves. Todd had the saw in his hand, and he was looking greedy. He needed miracles — needed to swallow them like candy. He’d always been like that. A miracle-eater. “Lie down on the table,” Todd said,...
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