Short Stories 



Mosquito in the Rain Storm

The mosquito found a home in a rainy room
The rainstom outside lasted all afternoon
A grey hue from the window to the room 
Stood stilll all afernoon
The darkness overcame the light
Then she felt the harsh chaos 
of movement in her head 
shifting terrains 
and tectonic plates 
The power of our words 
as they reach beyond our physical condition
How can you make them understand?
How can you help them get along?
Do not bring your suffering to another 
During the nightly rain 
It soothed her during her sleep
She wakes up periodically 
She itched behind her left shoulder
In and out of sleep she tossed turned
itched itched
Stood up to soothe it with lotion
Saw the bug bite
She didn’t hear buzzing so she worried it was her sheets
She would wash them tomorrow
Then she heard the buzzing
The sheer dissatisfaction of a mosquito entering her room in a rainstorm 
got her out of bed. she bundled up in a robe to cover all her skin
She had bites all over her 
In the morning they were gone 
She closed her window


Retelling A Dream

We were prepared for a violent encounter with them. Our numbers dwindling it was a fight of philosophical honor not success. In the day leading up their invasion it was decided I would not join. Rumor had spread one of their young warriors had shown an interest in me. I was to hide during the battle, preserve myself, and continue lineage should this be true. 
I hid in a house far in the back of our territory. It did not feel justifiable to be spared in this way. To be denied fighting by my elders. I think I should have disagreed with greater vehemence. But I as young and beautiful romanticized a different life of wealth, glamour, and adornment we heard of them in stories. We were dwindling.
I do not remember hearing the fighting. Under a table covered in a cloth barely touching the ground I crammed myself into a tightly knotted mound of flesh. My vision and world went white. I was brought back when I heard them enter the home. 
I was sure they were going to see me. They scanned the place imprecisely, almost boredly. 
It was him the one they spoke of with another male. He had called him by his name.
I heard them speak about the women of a different tribe and how much they desired them. They were making ground across the land blindly, led by their weapons. An unearthly sense of direction conjured them.
They spoke of things they would do to them with a deranged enthusiasm. 
We did not know what we were up against. I should have fought and died with my people. 


A boulder rested on either shoulder enflaming and pressuring the muscles and tendons around her neck
Tension from laptop work, sleeping in bad posture, poor posture
So busy but no energy 
She began moving and stretching around her living room 
Hardwood floor 
She stands up and pulls her shoulders back in great posture
The fire for relief made her push too hard in a downward dog stretch 
It did not crack the center of her back like she needed 
She overcompensated the inner tissues of her upper arm 
Pulling it sharp sadness buzzing 
Discomfort 
The popping and cracking 
Emulsion of movement 
Eagerness for relief 
Neglect of warmth 
Soothing slow 
She only goes for the cracks 
And yanks 
Downward dog
It is in the center of her upper back 
How much longer am I living in this apartment 
My back is so fucking tight
I was suppose to go swimming this week 
I finally got paid
I need these connections but there are bridges 
Trying to cross these bridges to the safe zone 
Suriving 
I can’t handle the pace I said I wouldnt smoke again 
She paces the living room of her aged and dirty apartment 
No rug because rugs get dirty too fast 
But no cozy and clean thing to lay on 
She hasn’t washed towels in weeks 
Dishes are left in the sink 
Maintenance of her life 
Looked like she
She ripped herself apart until she was dead 


The rustle of a dream grazed consciousness enough for her eyes to open to the rigid, dark gray of 4 am.  

With each breath, each blink, she recalibrated to a profound and still silence. She left the realm of visceral insanity. Staring into the abyss of a small room, a hyper-saturated reality performed a lifetime and a second away. 

Conjurying cinematic imagery for what the conscious mind failed to process adeptly, purgatory lives in the night’s mind. It was the only place she saw and felt herself commit violence. 

insanity
reality 
imagery
adeptly 
purgatory 

Her feet wafting the soft blankets now at the foot of her bed like shallow water. She liked to sleep naked. 
Pondering rising and turning to her side, settling, balling up, and a bubbling fit of refusal. Rolling over she pushed herself deeper into cavernous constellations.

Unrelenting the dark held her down. Shedding the console of her bed was horrifying. 

But what console? 

The sensual experience of relieving her physical weight upon something else. Suffering neck, shoulders, and back through poor posture and lunatic social performance. Embraced by a mountain of blankets, her naked skin increasingly warmed and protected. Nothing outweighed the weight of her blankets. 

She had fought, thought, and rot all night. To rise screamed so loudly at her. Strange and alarming scenarios deformed abandoned memories. Faces and places reincarnated as the burden of our excruciating physical existence. 

Most days she was spared the sorrow of getting out of bed through integrity alone. By 7am she always had to take a shit. 


The three raccoons

Three drunk stumbling little babies wobbled through the olly berry bushes. Wood chippings crunched under their paws with each waddle.

They arrived together. 

Olallieberries
Pears
Apples
Bugs 

Meandering through the garden night and day

They arrived in the summer.

I could plan to see them everyday. We coexisted while I sat outside. 

I began to see them less. More and more raccoons lay dead on the side of the road. 


So Juana you are here today.

Juana Bee
12 years 
Accused of witchcraft and witchery
Accused of manic violence

12/25/2023:

Stabbed the town butcher. Kicked a kid for harrassing a stray cat.

Your report says you are suffering from an ability to speak and understand animals. How long has this been happening? 

Since I was born. It is the greatest curse. 

I hear the dogs yelp when the pavement is too hot for their paws. I hear the pain and suffering of animals everywhere I go. The other day…

I am so sorry for your suffering. Now Juana, this condition you are experiencing has made it quite difficult for you to function at work and at home. People in your life are deeply concerned for your wellbeing. We need to talk about next steps. You understand it is quite impossible to understand animal communications coherently. We as humans may be able to empathize with them but we are not them.

I never said I was an animal. 

No you did not. But it is quite possible you are experiencing a deeply psychological issue leading you to believe something about yourself that is not true. These voices could be indicative of a traumatic experience you need support coping with. Let’s start with your sleeping patterns. Your aunt reported you scream and cry through almost all hours of the night. 

The highway next to my home makes it so I hear an animal get hit. When they do not die on contact the paint that ensues… it is truly something you cannot unhear. Followed by their family looking for them. The anger, pain, and profound sadness they feel. Fear. They don’t forget. Then their body lays there for days, sometimes even and until the vultures take care of it. It is an endless cycle. One we will never wake up from. Convoluted with fabricated survival systems. Spending lives commuting in vehicles that destroy the planet and kill all the animals. Only to waste away looking at computer screens. Stupid. The pain we inflict. Humans are the greatest narcissists. 

Now you explicitly state that you can understand the animals in a verbal manner. But you cannot speak to them?

No. They do not understand me but they know I can hear them. I understand them and hear them at all times. Sometimes I even hear breathing when I am near meat. 

Okay Juana, let's take a step back for a second. There are some medicines. 

There is a kitten in the garbage out back. It is scared it is going to die. I will show you.

Now Juana -
Please we can go together. I can show you I am not lying. 

Oh my goodness the poor thing was wrapped in a bag! 

Fuck you. 


11/20
“Identity Theft” 

I am Mexican

But that isn’t correct because I am also Nicaraguan 

A civil war lives one lifetime away from me

I am American 

1500s - 1800s 

I have been murdered, raped, massacered, tortured, converted, contorted

I have been safe, stable, protected, delusional, valued

My land pillaged and people burned to the ground

I have burned villages and forced people back to the earth

Through immigration 

I was born here 

Mutual adoption 

Someone grew to the point of reproduction and then someone else grew to that point and again and again 

Thinking of the ways it takes to survive 

I have lost 

I have gained 

I have destroyed and maimed 

I have been destroyed and maimed 

I have seen destruction and maiming 

I have died 

I have survived 

Famine, genocide, war, disease, settler-colonialism, religious brutality

I am a fragmented diluted legacy, byproduct 

I am alive and I am dead 




Minimal dates and biscuits 

Thirsty 

No access to electricity or water

Solar panels bombed 

100 decomposing bodies they cannot bury

Digging mass graves in the garden of the hospital 

No access to dialysis machines 

Image making process 

Toxins in their bloodstream

Inundated with fluid 

Confusion

Difficulty breathing 

Slow

Horrible 

Painful Death

Preventable painful death

30% killed in safe zone 

“Humanitarian corridors” in the South are called corridors of death