[{"id":20472,"date":"2026-09-23T04:59:57","date_gmt":"2026-09-23T11:59:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20472"},"modified":"2026-09-23T05:18:04","modified_gmt":"2026-09-23T12:18:04","slug":"scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"[Scene 5. Ext. &#8211; Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>AUDIENCE settles in their seats as curtains rise. CECELIA enters from stage left and looks at the abomination of iron and rope fused to the catwalks the MANAGER jury-rigged from upstage to the mezzanine. Sunlight behind CECELIA fades through the tangle of pulleys, cranks, and gears above her. She lingers mid-stage for a beat too long.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> I swear, every day Father grows more cross.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>The shadow of a tower looms over CECELIA and AUDIENCE. The sunlight dies behind the horizon, but the shadow clings to CECELIA, as if trying to ease her transition into the dark.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> If he won\u2019t listen to me, then I don\u2019t know who will. I must find a way to free her on my own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>ORCHESTRA\u2019s violins sound hopeful. The first constellations and bioluminescence of the forest flicker at the wings of the stage.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL (offstage):<\/strong> Psst \u2013 over here!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Who? Where?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Enter GABRIEL from above, conveyed by the contraption and its hidden harness in his angelic toga. The stage fully lights up now, and the light of Heaven casts the skeletal shadows of the pulley system onto the trees and bushes. Cue harp sting the AUDIENCE can\u2019t hear over the rhythmic creak of the gears lowering him. FLYMAN grunts with each crank of the contraption.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Why, \u2018tis I. Your Guardian Angel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> So you\u2019re real! I thought I was having a nervous breakdown all this time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> I have always been real. I\u2019ve watched over you for your entire life. I have revealed myself for the first time to warn you of a harrowing prophecy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Good heavens! Will I save my sweetheart?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Alas, in three day\u2019s time, she shall be hung.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Then all hope is lost. Why did you have to bear such awful news?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> There is hope! Heed my warning, Cecelia! Take decisive action, and you may yet save her!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Cue ORCHESTRA\u2019s second harp sting, this time, audible.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> What must I do?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> First! Know your father has been unfaithful to your mother. It is his new liaison that will prove your first ally.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> My poor mother! Can\u2019t you tell me who I\u2019m supposed to find?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> That, I\u2019m afraid, can only be revealed at the proper time. Second! Take heed that the solstice approaches on the final night before your beloved\u2019s execution. The length and nature of the night shall be to your advantage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Long nights torture me so.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Third and final! Remember the games of hide-and-go-seek you played with your father. Remember how to find small cracks only a child could fit through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> I\u2019m fully grown now! How could I expect to fit?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> I\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t tell you anything else. If I did, I\u2019d face severe punishment from the grand forces of heaven. Now, farewell, Cecelia!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Lights sparkle at the foot of the stage. GABRIEL flies over the AUDIENCE. Contraption creaks with every crank of the rope.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> No! Come back, spirit! Tell me more! What must I do?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>The screaming of metal against metal drowns out the sentimental ORCHESTRA. GABRIEL waves farewell and stutters one creak at a time, toward the stage lights, which shine full brightness on him and the skeletal girders supporting him. Then, <\/em><em>clunk<\/em><em>! Gears freeze<\/em>. <em>ORCHESTRA peters out as GABRIEL levitates over the middle of the packed house. The rope creaks under his weight.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> Fuck!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>GABRIEL looks down at the crowd. A single drop of sweat rolls off his forehead and splashes on the armrest of the chair below. AUDIENCE strains their necks to see him despite the stage lights. The expressions on their faces remain placid, flat as a lake on a windless day.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Oh, yeah, I guess there was a fourth thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Pray tell, what could it be?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Your dad? He\u2019s a, um, very important guy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Is there redemption to be had after how he\u2019s treated Mother?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> You see, there\u2019s a reason your dad\u2019s been cheating on your mom. He\u2019s really not that bad a guy, I promise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Surely a wise man such as he must operate off some logic. Right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>FLYMAN clanks across the catwalk and sprays grease on the wheels. Once again, GABRIEL\u2019s support network whines, and the angel\u2019s body shudders as if from a strong wind.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> There\u2019s, umm, there\u2019s also a fifth thing I should mention.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Fifth thing? Wait, what\u2019s my father\u2019s reason?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Oh, that\u2019s another one of those things I can\u2019t tell you. We angels are often bound by, I guess you\u2019d call them divine codes. We can\u2019t tell you Earthlings anything. Yeah, we really hate your guts that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>The theater\u2019s overhead lights return like a second day. Every nook and cranny of the magic forest is flattened without shadow. Every bolt and screw of the contraption is visible, as light reflects off its caked layers of black spray paint.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> I\u2019m scared of heights.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA (coughing):<\/strong> I would have expected angels to be well acquainted with high places. Considering they live in Heaven.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>MANAGER breaks through the double doors and trods towards the ladder to the catwalks.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER:<\/strong> Everyone stay in your seats! This is all part of the show.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>CECELIA waves at the MANAGER and points at the strange apparition dangling in the sky, only to be shushed. Every step up the ladder is another clank.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Yes, I imagine God would want you dead for telling me so much. I suppose I\u2019ll have to save you, too. Oh, why does this always happen to me? Where can I find strength?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL (pawing at the rope tethering him to the contraption):<\/strong> I feel sick.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> Hold fucking still! Christ!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Perhaps the weight of our earthly atmosphere doesn\u2019t agree with you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>MANAGER\u2019s footsteps clank overhead. AUDIENCE murmurs.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> What\u2019s the big issue? You trying to make me look bad?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Oh, God, I\u2019m gonna puke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> Sir, we need to call intermission to get him down safely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Alas! Even the angels are plagued with the same bodily imperfections that afflict us mortals. Take slow, deep breaths.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> Intermission isn\u2019t until after this scene.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL (burping):<\/strong> Shit, you think I should close my eyes?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> We need to get a crash pad ready for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Crash pad?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Close your eyes!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL (feet kicking through the air):<\/strong> I still feel like I\u2019m dangling from nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>GABRIEL\u2019s sandal splats on the grand staircase between seating blocks A and B. USHERS descend from their perches and enter AUDIENCE, only slightly disturbed from their viewing of the play above.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Angel, perhaps your queasiness is a metaphor for my own indecisiveness. But enough discussion of metaphor. Please, something more concrete.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Concrete. That\u2019s what I\u2019m going to fall on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>USHERS:<\/strong> All right, we\u2019re going to need everyone to begin slowly exiting this block of seating right here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> Absolutely not! Everyone stay in your seats!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>GABRIEL\u2019s shadow hangs over the center of block B. B for Bullseye. Waves of red velvet and black plastic cascade beneath him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> Sir, please, we need to take safety precautions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> If angels feel the same sorrows, please tell me they experience the same joys. Please, find me a story to soothe my heart and yours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> You own this fucking theater?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> I, ahh, I\u2019ll tell you, oh Lord \u2013 I\u2019ll tell you about how I got into theater. How about that?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> No.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> They have theater up in Heaven? How wonderful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> Well, I do, and you can get the fuck out of it. You\u2019re fired. You hear me? F-I-R-E-D.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> When I was a kid, I wore costumes everywhere. I was super anxious, so I liked dressing up like a superhero and pretending I had powers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> You\u2019re firing me for doing my job?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> You sabotaged me. This worked so well in rehearsals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> I always picked the ones who wore masks. How many people are in the audience tonight? Full house?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> Well, I\u2019ve had enough of saboteurs. Get out! I built this with my own two hands, do you hear me? I don\u2019t need you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (offstage):<\/strong> Yeah, yeah, whatever.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Enter FLYMAN from stage up. No spotlight trains on him. The only thing marking him against the beige walls is his black outfit, selected to blend into the pitch-black ceiling. The heads of the AUDIENCE turn to him, and he shakes his head with dismay.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN (to GABRIEL):<\/strong> I wish I could\u2019ve helped, Bob.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> He\u2019s going to get me down, right?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>FLYMAN:<\/strong> I don\u2019t know, dude.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Well, fuck this. I quit. I don\u2019t care anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Spirit! Are you forsaking your duties to God? I knew not that angels were capable of such actions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL (to CECELIA):<\/strong> Lucy, cut the bit, okay? I\u2019m done. I\u2019m sorry, could everyone below me please move? I\u2019m going to \u2013<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>GABRIEL retches.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>GABRIEL:<\/strong> Oh, God, it\u2019s all over. Boss! Lift me up! I\u2019m gonna hurl!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Deep breaths, Bob. Box breathe! Box breathe!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>GABRIEL trembles over AUDIENCE. Loud thuds echo from the roof like a sunshower turned powerful thunderstorm as MANAGER slams his wrench into his fine contraption. AUDIENCE shifts in their seats. The thunder echoes in their souls, yet the crisp lights and shadeless sets stifle any developing stormy atmosphere.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>MANAGER (offstage):<\/strong> Relax. Why are you in such a hurry to leave, anyways?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>GABRIEL jerks back into motion. The rope strains like a harp string stretched past its note. The MANAGER\u2019s sweat lubricates the gears, and he grunts as he forces each revolution. The angel GABRIEL takes wild swings over the AUDIENCE and inches towards the back of the hall. The ORCHESTRA fires up one more sting, and the forest\u2019s sun sets. Just as the stars peek past the curtain again, the rope snaps. GABRIEL flails, spirals, thrashes, and lands back-first on seat B-52. The chair collapses, and the guest, MR. CARROLL, lies flat underneath a fallen angel. Both lose consciousness.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Two USHERS grab GABRIEL, two more grab MR. CARROLL. Exit GABRIEL stage rear left. Exit MR. CARROLL stage rear right. MANAGER clanks across the catwalk, slides down the ladder. Exit MANAGER stage left. CECELIA is now alone. ORCHESTRA is silent. Sunset is aborted.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Well\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>AUDIENCE remains seated. Lights overhead brighten and darken.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Sunset! The time when dawn ends and night begins. A liminal state between waking and sleeping. Long have I been torn between the life I\u2019ve led and the life I\u2019ve dreamed of. My lover lies locked in a tower. A horrible fate. Surely there must be something I can do? Anyone? No, of course not. Gabriel, in his own way, relayed God\u2019s message to me. Like Icarus before him fell from the sun. And God, so aggressive above him. I can sense the spirits\u2019 frustration with my\u2026 my ineptitude. Then a decision must be reached on my own. Yes, that\u2019s it. That must be it. I can choose to fly, much like I can choose to fall. And I choose to fly away with my lover. Right. That\u2019s it. Rather than fall victim to my own hesitance and my father\u2019s pressures.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>AUDIENCE murmurs.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> My father, the King? Remember? The spirits gave me hints, yes? Well, onward! And upward! To new heights, even if I end up crashing down. Gabriel, what a teacher you were! I cannot thank you enough. Well then, that\u2019s all. No use carrying on. I\u2019ll flee with my lover, and then we\u2019ll take flight and live in Hawaii. I\u2019ll conduct my work in secret, so, uh, God?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>MANAGER does not respond.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA:<\/strong> Hey, God? Please cut the stars and the lights, thanks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>MANAGER can be heard mumbling assent, offstage.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>CECELIA (as the curtains swing shut):<\/strong> Good night, everyone! Kindly make your way to the door. Watch your step. I hope we never see each other again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">[END OF PLAY.]<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Brent Robbins<\/strong> is a Florida man living in Japan. His work has been previously published in The Mangrove Review, Seledka, and on Substack. When\u2019s he\u2019s not writing, he\u2019s teaching English, going to the onsen, and watching bad movies. Follow him on Substack <a href=\"https:\/\/brentrobbins.substack.com\/\">@brentrobbins<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>AUDIENCE settles in their seats as curtains rise. CECELIA enters from stage left and looks at the abomination of iron and rope fused to the catwalks the MANAGER jury-rigged from upstage to the mezzanine. Sunlight behind CECELIA fades through the tangle of pulleys, cranks, and gears above her. She lingers mid-stage for a beat too long. CECELIA: I swear, every day Father grows more cross. The shadow of a tower looms over CECELIA and AUDIENCE. The sunlight dies behind the horizon, but the shadow clings to CECELIA, as if trying to ease her transition into the dark. CECELIA: If he&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20477,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20472","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>[Scene 5. Ext. - Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"[Scene 5. Ext. - Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"AUDIENCE settles in their seats as curtains rise. CECELIA enters from stage left and looks at the abomination of iron and rope fused to the catwalks the MANAGER jury-rigged from upstage to the mezzanine. Sunlight behind CECELIA fades through the tangle of pulleys, cranks, and gears above her. She lingers mid-stage for a beat too long. CECELIA: I swear, every day Father grows more cross. The shadow of a tower looms over CECELIA and AUDIENCE. The sunlight dies behind the horizon, but the shadow clings to CECELIA, as if trying to ease her transition into the dark. CECELIA: If he...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-23T11:59:57+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-23T12:18:04+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/robbins-post.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"[Scene 5. Ext. &#8211; Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-23T11:59:57+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-23T12:18:04+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":2112,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/robbins-post.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"[Scene 5. Ext. - Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/robbins-post.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-23T11:59:57+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-23T12:18:04+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/robbins-post.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/robbins-post.webp\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"[Scene 5. Ext. &#8211; Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"[Scene 5. Ext. - Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"[Scene 5. Ext. - Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins","og_description":"AUDIENCE settles in their seats as curtains rise. CECELIA enters from stage left and looks at the abomination of iron and rope fused to the catwalks the MANAGER jury-rigged from upstage to the mezzanine. Sunlight behind CECELIA fades through the tangle of pulleys, cranks, and gears above her. She lingers mid-stage for a beat too long. CECELIA: I swear, every day Father grows more cross. The shadow of a tower looms over CECELIA and AUDIENCE. The sunlight dies behind the horizon, but the shadow clings to CECELIA, as if trying to ease her transition into the dark. CECELIA: If he...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-23T11:59:57+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-23T12:18:04+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/robbins-post.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"[Scene 5. Ext. &#8211; Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins","datePublished":"2026-09-23T11:59:57+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-23T12:18:04+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":2112,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/robbins-post.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/","name":"[Scene 5. Ext. - Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/robbins-post.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-23T11:59:57+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-23T12:18:04+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/robbins-post.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/robbins-post.webp","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/scene-5-ext-forest-dusk-by-brent-robbins\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"[Scene 5. Ext. &#8211; Forest, Dusk] by Brent Robbins"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20472","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20472"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20472\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20479,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20472\/revisions\/20479"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20477"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20472"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20472"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20472"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20472"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20464,"date":"2026-09-22T05:11:03","date_gmt":"2026-09-22T12:11:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20464"},"modified":"2026-09-22T05:11:06","modified_gmt":"2026-09-22T12:11:06","slug":"change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large is-resized\"><img fetchpriority=\"high\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"640\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts-640x1024.webp\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20465\" style=\"aspect-ratio:0.6250068579579744;width:296px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts-640x1024.webp 640w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts-188x300.webp 188w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts-768x1229.webp 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts-960x1536.webp 960w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts-1280x2048.webp 1280w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts-559x894.webp 559w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/cts.webp 1500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>The older I get, the more I appreciate writers who leave a personal stamp on their work, so unmistakeable it couldn\u2019t be anyone else on the page. Claire Hopple is one such author. Hopple\u2019s absurdist, punny, tongue-in-cheek fiction has been a mainstay in indie lit for years. Few are as prolific as she is, and I\u2019d know the cadence and tone of a Hopple story even in a blind read (the highest compliment I can give an author!) I was lucky enough to catch up with Claire and fire off a few questions about her latest novel, <\/em><a href=\"https:\/\/asterismbooks.com\/product\/change-the-subject\">Change the Subject<em>, available now with Rejection Letters Press.&nbsp;<\/em><\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Kirsti MacKenzie:<\/strong> <strong>I want to know the exact event you were at when you came up with the idea for proxying. Do you ever wish you were a proxy, and if so, what is your dream assignment? Conversely, do you wish someone could proxy for you during events?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Claire Hopple: I can\u2019t remember where I was, but the weird thing is: this proxy concept was inspired by the show Arrested Development, even though I haven\u2019t seen it in years. There\u2019s a guy who represents the dad while he\u2019s in prison by wearing a hat with a camera and mic that directs to a live feed so the dad can intervene with his family while he\u2019s behind bars. I don\u2019t think I could handle working as a proxy. It\u2019s too much direct customer service, too much recorded footage, too much pressure. I do wish I could have one though, at times, especially in situations where it\u2019d be preferable if I were an extrovert or someone with a different personality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: Change the Subject deals, unintentionally or not, with social alienation. We all put on versions of ourselves, and proxying only makes that more noticeable. We are not mentally or emotionally present for so much of our lives, and proxying furthers that sense of being socially adrift. How much of Change the Subject was a conscious statement on alienation, if any?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CH: It was both conscious and unconscious. I think all creative acts at their core are about alienation because creativity is an attempt to bring people together, and you can only do that if you notice they\u2019re apart.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large is-resized\"><img decoding=\"async\" width=\"768\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/G_C38q9WUAANWyg-768x1024.webp\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20466\" style=\"width:543px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/G_C38q9WUAANWyg-768x1024.webp 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/G_C38q9WUAANWyg-225x300.webp 225w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/G_C38q9WUAANWyg-1152x1536.webp 1152w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/G_C38q9WUAANWyg-671x894.webp 671w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/G_C38q9WUAANWyg.webp 1536w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: This is going to sound contrary, but I feel like so much of your writing thumbs its nose at grand statements, themes, or even premise. (I say this with a lot of admiration!) You have this continual ability to subvert expectation\u2014for instance, the midpoint has this dramatic reversal, where the character breaks her assignment and inserts herself in the situation where she shouldn&#8217;t, only to have the effort fall flat. The real revelation is quieter, and funnier (&#8220;I regret to inform you I seem to care about what I&#8217;m doing&#8221;). To what degree are you conscious of your subversions, as a writer? Do they come as genuinely a surprise to you as they are to me, the reader?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CD: I want fiction to feel like real life, and real life doesn\u2019t have a traditional story arc. I\u2019m very conscious of this because it\u2019s my way of grappling with existence, and I want to share that with people. Often I do not have everything mapped out, just use a handful of ideas that will eventually appear in the story, but I love to surprise myself too. Anything that feels overtly structural or rigid takes all the fun and the voice out of it for me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: One hallmark of a Claire Hopple story is taking a comedy bit and seeing it all the way through to its furthest extent, to a point where an absurd premise feels logical. Is it more difficult to sustain this in a novel than a short story? How do you know when a bit or premise demands more room to be explored, rather than be a one-off, shorter piece?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CD: Reality is absurd to me. So absurdism through narrative is a working out of how it feels to live in mundanity. I elevate the fictional setting to the emotional level of everyday life, if that makes sense. And I don\u2019t think I know when a premise demands more room to be explored other than what it tells me. You get possessed by the narrative and it does sort of pull you along, but I also historically have an issue with pacing. I wanna get it all out perhaps a little too quickly.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: Do you have a favourite Jeopardy contestant or moment? Looking for a real deep cut, if you&#8217;ve got one.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CD: Victoria Groce is my favorite player of all time. She is the epitome of grace, intelligence, cool, and genuine empathy. And my favorite Jeopardy! category is Before &amp; After\u2013\u2013or Before, During &amp; After. Sometimes we just play curated clips of those on YouTube when we\u2019re feeling really nerdy. John is really into the show, and so writing it into this novel was a dedication of sorts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: At one point, Monica states &#8220;Everybody gets sick of themselves, tired of being trapped.&#8221; All the characters deal a bit with identity slippage, play, or substitution (her father&#8217;s statue, Graham&#8217;s smashed face, Monica&#8217;s meditation on the use of glasses or wigs, fake identities and names, witness protection). If you could snap your fingers and shift something about your identity, what would you change? Do you think it would stick?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CD: I think you\u2019ve hit on the main theme of this book, so excellent work there. We can never be someone different than we are, we are in a sense trapped inside our own bodies and personalities, and that is both incredibly relieving and disappointing. There\u2019s a lot to play with, a lot of ways to explore that concept and flesh it out. If I could change my identity, I would change it all the time just for the diverse perspectives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: At one point, Monica&#8217;s boss says to her: &#8220;You&#8217;re making the work about yourself when you should be invisible.&#8221; So many people take on their work as a marker of identity, when really it has nothing to do with them\u2014it was there before they were, and continues without them. Do you feel like proxying is as anonymous as it&#8217;s made to be, or might proxies begin to see their work as a continuous form of art, or a project (like a writer, or a career criminal)?<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CD: I think human nature dictates that we always internalize things and incorporate external factors into our identities, even when there\u2019s no basis for it, especially when it\u2019s something we\u2019re doing so often, proxying included. Sometimes we need someone like Monica\u2019s boss to remind us that our entities are separate from what we do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: Monica&#8217;s deli order is hella specific. I need to know\u2014is that sandwich your ideal? Or do you have your own hyper-specific order? Please input here so I can Door Dash it to you.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CD: Ahh that would be AMAZING. Monica and I share the same sandwich preferences for sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>KM: Let&#8217;s say you&#8217;re perusing Proxy Corp applications. What things stick out to you as the markers of a successful applicant? (Asking for a friend.)\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">CD: Adaptability, customer service experience, and working well under pressure. A lot of ADHD folks would be really good at proxying. I would probably hire them first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Claire Hopple<\/strong> is the author of six books. Her stories have appeared in Southwest Review, Forever Mag, Wigleaf, Cleveland Review of Books, and others. More at <a href=\"https:\/\/clairehopple.wordpress.com\/\">clairehopple.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Kirsti MacKenzie<\/strong> (@KeersteeMack) is a writer and editor in chief of Major 7th Magazine. Her debut novel, BETTER TO BEG, is available from Sweet Trash\/House of Vlad Press in Nov 2025. You can read the rest at <a href=\"https:\/\/www.kirstimackenzie.com\/\">kirstimackenzie.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The older I get, the more I appreciate writers who leave a personal stamp on their work, so unmistakeable it couldn\u2019t be anyone else on the page. Claire Hopple is one such author. Hopple\u2019s absurdist, punny, tongue-in-cheek fiction has been a mainstay in indie lit for years. Few are as prolific as she is, and I\u2019d know the cadence and tone of a Hopple story even in a blind read (the highest compliment I can give an author!) I was lucky enough to catch up with Claire and fire off a few questions about her latest novel, Change the Subject,&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20469,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20464","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The older I get, the more I appreciate writers who leave a personal stamp on their work, so unmistakeable it couldn\u2019t be anyone else on the page. Claire Hopple is one such author. Hopple\u2019s absurdist, punny, tongue-in-cheek fiction has been a mainstay in indie lit for years. Few are as prolific as she is, and I\u2019d know the cadence and tone of a Hopple story even in a blind read (the highest compliment I can give an author!) I was lucky enough to catch up with Claire and fire off a few questions about her latest novel, Change the Subject,...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-22T12:11:03+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-22T12:11:06+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/hopple-post.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-22T12:11:03+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-22T12:11:06+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":1339,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/hopple-post.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/hopple-post.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-22T12:11:03+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-22T12:11:06+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/hopple-post.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/hopple-post.webp\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie","og_description":"The older I get, the more I appreciate writers who leave a personal stamp on their work, so unmistakeable it couldn\u2019t be anyone else on the page. Claire Hopple is one such author. Hopple\u2019s absurdist, punny, tongue-in-cheek fiction has been a mainstay in indie lit for years. Few are as prolific as she is, and I\u2019d know the cadence and tone of a Hopple story even in a blind read (the highest compliment I can give an author!) I was lucky enough to catch up with Claire and fire off a few questions about her latest novel, Change the Subject,...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-22T12:11:03+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-22T12:11:06+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/hopple-post.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie","datePublished":"2026-09-22T12:11:03+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-22T12:11:06+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":1339,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/hopple-post.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/","name":"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/hopple-post.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-22T12:11:03+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-22T12:11:06+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/hopple-post.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/hopple-post.webp","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/change-the-subject-an-interview-with-claire-hopple-by-kirsti-mackenzie\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Change The Subject: an Interview with Claire Hopple by Kirsti MacKenzie"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20464","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20464"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20464\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20471,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20464\/revisions\/20471"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20469"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20464"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20464"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20464"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20464"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20461,"date":"2026-09-21T05:04:12","date_gmt":"2026-09-21T12:04:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20461"},"modified":"2026-09-21T05:04:13","modified_gmt":"2026-09-21T12:04:13","slug":"lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">the lanternflies arrived the year before, on a cord of imported wood to a jobsite in berks county. within a month they had spread 100 miles in all directions. they lay their dried up bubblegum egg masses onto almost any surface (tree trunks, teslas, trash cans) and hatch to nymph to adult changing colors from black with white dots to red with white dots to ugly grey with wings that when spread show a beautiful pattern of white black and red. their favorite thing to eat is trees. they swarm and suck the sap and leave behind their honeydew, inviting other pests and fungus, stressing the plant and oftentimes killing it. in a month, the lanternflies descended on pennsylvania\u2019s cash crops, grapevines and timberwood, costing farmers millions in damages.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">my kids are picky eaters and drink a gallon of milk every day. their dad left one day during an argument, just walked out to cool down after throwing a soccer sneaker through my antique rocking chair (an heirloom passed down to me from my great grandmother), and never came back. rent in a good school catchment is high.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">all you really need to know is that i needed the money.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">an invasive species with no natural predators, they proliferated and spread into the tristate area and beyond. it got to the point where the bugs became so bountiful they would fall out of the trees into my hair any time i went outside. their preferred food source, a garbage plant called <em>tree of heaven<\/em>, an invasive species itself, makes the bugs taste yucky to birds and other animals who would otherwise eat them.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">desperate to slow the devastation, the department of agriculture issued a statement:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>citizens, we implore you to take action to stop the spread of these disastrous insects. see one, stomp one, save one, and get paid by the state. only you can prevent total spotted lantern fly infestation.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">it didn\u2019t take long for people in my neighborhood to mobilize. yentas, boomers, yuppie moms and dads, even little kids, everyone took to the streets with whatever household object for whacking the bugs: brooms, fly swatters, rolled up <em>new yorkers<\/em>. thwack. thwack. thwack. then scooped up into tall kitchen bags. we were all doing our part. the cash incentive was also a nice motivator.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">i liked using my husband\u2019s old shoes. it satisfied me to hear the soft crunch of exoskeleton under the soles of those beatup new balances. putting his left behind things to good use. doing their part.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">soon, every spare moment of mine was spent outside smashing and collecting bugs, and hauling my trophies to the makeshift lanternfly procurement tent outside of city hall.&nbsp; i did so much research that summer, reading up on their nesting habits, their feeding habits, what attracted them, what repelled them. through practice i learned the best way to sneak up on them is to hit them from behind. the adults can fly, but they prefer to jump, and if they sense you approaching them from the front they\u2019ll spring up so quick. i made traps and set them up in high density areas. in the mornings, i would wake before my kids, before the sun, and drive along the river where i had installed traps the day before, throwing bags full of dead insects in the back of my truck and replacing them with fresh ones. their creepy little bodies disgusted me, especially the adults. little grey winged roaches. but i was doing my part. and for $20 a pound, it was worth feeling my skin cringe.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">i was very good at this, always seeking to improve my methods. one time i came upon a swarm of adult lanternflies on the base of a tree trunk. my plan was to vacuum them up with this cordless shop vac i found at an estate sale. i&nbsp; had my headphones on and reached to turn on my slaughtering music, \u201csilly love songs\u201d by wings, but i didn\u2019t have the bluetooth connected so the music came blaring out of my phone\u2019s speakers. something about the saxophones seemed to stunlock the bugs, they didn\u2019t even flinch as i approached. later i found a portable speaker at a thrift shop and took to playing my sax-heavy 70s rock music out loud. made it super simple to scoop up buckets of them with or without the vacuum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">i did the bulk of my work while my kids were sleeping or at school, but sometimes i\u2019d leave my kids at home watching bluey on youtube to make collections. my littlest one didn\u2019t like killing bugs, she complainded about them smelling too stinky, scratching at her skin as if the sight of them them made her allergic. i\u2019d let her sit in the truck while my eldest and i filled bags to the brim.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">every day i brought six or seven contractor bags full of dead lanternflies in various stages of development to the procurement tent\u2019s weighing station to get paid. i was netting a couple hundred dollars a day, but i knew i could be doing more.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">one morning as i swept up donut crumbs from the kitchen floor i had an idea. what if i put my semi finished basement to good use? it\u2019s the space where my husband used to work and sleep because his schedule was erratic and his snoring kept me up at night. i hadn\u2019t been down there since the night he stormed off, and the kids never wanted to play down there despite the big screen television and cushy couch being down there, preferring to watch their shows on my old work laptop in my bedroom on the third floor. i put my coffee mug in the sink and took the steps down to his lair. the atmosphere still felt like him. dour. it smelled of his scalp. a space perfect for me to reclaim. all i would need is some plants and time.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">lanternflies mate and lay their eggs in the autumn to overwinter hatch in spring, but with some trickery, with the ac running, and some heatlamps on a timer, i figured i could speed up the life cycle. bring the bugs home to kill at my leisure.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">the next morning i came upon a swarm near the river gathered at the foot of a tree, i put on my stunblock music and used gloved hands to shepherd about 200 adults into a brown paper bag with small holes punched in the sides. i stapled the top of the bag shut and put it in the passenger seat. i was excited to show my nasty little pals their new habitat.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">it took some tinkering, but before long my basement was crawling with bugs. walking into the vestibule from outside, you could hear the fluttering of their gross little wings, their tiny bodies creeping over each other and colliding midair. because i was trying to encourage their multiplication, i hadn\u2019t started trapping them yet. i wasn\u2019t sure when to start killing my new housemates. i wasn\u2019t sure how this would end for me. and i was still going to the river on the daily. the workers at the lanternfly procurement tent knew my first and last name, and my kids names, and what they were getting up to at school. i was one of their most frequent depositors. i was an adept native wildlife reclaimer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">what the bugs in my basement were doing, i wasn\u2019t sure. i was too afraid to check. the fear crept in slowly.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">upon returning home one morning, i turned the key in the front door and heard this loud, dry rattling. the noise got increasingly louder in a week\u2019s time. i could hear it in my sleep, altering the motif of my dreamscapes into a horrific timelapse reel. bulbous wings, insect legs twitching, lush greenery drained of life, sticky egg masses spreading over every surface, a red black and grey horde shuddering as one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">then one night i woke up to the sound of screaming. it was me. i was being tickled all over and i was screaming. an adult lanternfly had perched itself on my lips, drinking the drool on my cheek. pulling the covers off and leaping out of bed, i moved frantically as if my life depended on it. the noise in my bedroom was unbearable, a cacophony of dull flapping. my legs itched. i ran to turn the light switch on and saw a small army of nymphs meandering through my shin hairs. bugs all over the walls, bugs all over the furniture, in all life stages, grouped on the floor in large clusters and leaping up with any small movement i made. they were marching out of the central air vents in the floor and ceiling, dozens at a time. without thinking, i grabbed my phone and turned the volume all the way up as \u201csilly love songs\u201d blasted from my youtube music app. the bugs froze in place. i jumped down the flight of stairs to my children&#8217; s room and found my two girls holding each other on the top bunk, a pair of shipwrecked babes in a sea of stunlocked bugs. with the phone in my mouth, i hoisted my daughters one on each hip, and we rushed out to the front yard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">lit by streetlights, the entire exterior of our house looked otherworldly, like something from a film, a quivering mass of red, black, and grey. the grass was blanketed with insect bodies. the truck in my driveway was fully coated.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cthere\u2019s no way i can scoop all of these up,\u201d i said under my breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201ci don\u2019t like this, mommy,\u201d my littlest one said. i rubbed the soft hairs on the back of her head and flicked a black nymph from her neck.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201clet\u2019s just go,\u201d my eldest said.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">still hip carrying my girls, i ran to the garage. \u201cgrab the broom,\u201d i said to my eldest, and she quickly went to work thwacking and swiping the bugs from the doors and windshield.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cwait in here,\u201d i said, buckling them into their booster seats and shutting the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">with my murder music still blasting, i went back into the garage and found the lighter fluid. on the shelf above, i saw an old box of parliaments and took those too.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cmommy, what\u2019s that smell,\u201d my eldest said as we drove down the road, to where i had no clue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cdon\u2019t worry about it baby, close your eyes and try to get some rest,\u201d i said. \u201ctomorrow will be a long day.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Alexandra Naughton<\/strong> is a writer based in Philadelphia. She is the founder of Be About It Press, Bring a Blanket Reading Series, and A Writers Party, the annual alternative to AWP. Her third novel, Fake Company, is forthcoming from Maudlin House in 2027.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>the lanternflies arrived the year before, on a cord of imported wood to a jobsite in berks county. within a month they had spread 100 miles in all directions. they lay their dried up bubblegum egg masses onto almost any surface (tree trunks, teslas, trash cans) and hatch to nymph to adult changing colors from black with white dots to red with white dots to ugly grey with wings that when spread show a beautiful pattern of white black and red. their favorite thing to eat is trees. they swarm and suck the sap and leave behind their honeydew, inviting&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20462,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20461","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"the lanternflies arrived the year before, on a cord of imported wood to a jobsite in berks county. within a month they had spread 100 miles in all directions. they lay their dried up bubblegum egg masses onto almost any surface (tree trunks, teslas, trash cans) and hatch to nymph to adult changing colors from black with white dots to red with white dots to ugly grey with wings that when spread show a beautiful pattern of white black and red. their favorite thing to eat is trees. they swarm and suck the sap and leave behind their honeydew, inviting...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-21T12:04:12+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-21T12:04:13+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/naughton-post.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-21T12:04:12+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-21T12:04:13+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":1850,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/naughton-post.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/naughton-post.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-21T12:04:12+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-21T12:04:13+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/naughton-post.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/naughton-post.webp\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton","og_description":"the lanternflies arrived the year before, on a cord of imported wood to a jobsite in berks county. within a month they had spread 100 miles in all directions. they lay their dried up bubblegum egg masses onto almost any surface (tree trunks, teslas, trash cans) and hatch to nymph to adult changing colors from black with white dots to red with white dots to ugly grey with wings that when spread show a beautiful pattern of white black and red. their favorite thing to eat is trees. they swarm and suck the sap and leave behind their honeydew, inviting...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-21T12:04:12+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-21T12:04:13+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/naughton-post.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton","datePublished":"2026-09-21T12:04:12+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-21T12:04:13+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":1850,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/naughton-post.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/","name":"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/naughton-post.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-21T12:04:12+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-21T12:04:13+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/naughton-post.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/naughton-post.webp","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/lanternfly-summer-by-alexandra-naughton\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Lanternfly Summer by Alexandra Naughton"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20461","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20461"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20461\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20463,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20461\/revisions\/20463"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20462"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20461"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20461"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20461"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20461"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20432,"date":"2026-09-18T05:21:37","date_gmt":"2026-09-18T12:21:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20432"},"modified":"2026-09-18T05:21:38","modified_gmt":"2026-09-18T12:21:38","slug":"i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">All of my departures have introduced me to new versions of myself but I\u2019m beginning to resent the idea that there is still so much left to become. I am hoping crossing borders will show me what love has yet to grant me: <em>freedom<\/em>.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I arrive in New Mexico hoping to better acquaint myself with service and solitude, to become more discerning and lighthearted. The farm is in a town checkerboarded between reservations and gas stations. Everything here is brown and low to the ground. The adobe houses look like they have been pushed gently down into the earth by a large hand, like the ground was choking on houses made of sand. Mountains hold the pueblo between the river and the canyons. Cottonwoods follow along the roads and dried arroyos. Every afternoon clouds gather above to perform the theater of thunder without rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The farm is owned by a small and resilient Native woman named Marta. She wears floral dresses and sandals so that her feet are always covered in dust and dirt. Her hair hangs in two long braids to her waist and her hands are weathered by rope and wire and clay and animals and whatever accumulation of mistakes eventually begins to resemble a beautiful and hard life. She has five horses, two dogs, one barn cat, twelve chickens and had had three husbands. She never looks at me when she says their names. She remembered them architecturally through the pieces they left behind on the property like the gate or the screen door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In the morning, I walk to the barn carrying coffee in a thick diner mug I bought in town at the coffeeshop. It has a black hawk on it. I like collecting mugs from local coffeeshops like this so that when I return home and notice them sitting on my shelf, I know where I\u2019ve been. The horses wait in the bright light, their eyes holding small white reflections of daybreak. I let them out to pasture, feed them alfalfa and hay, check the troughs, fill the wheelbarrow with manure and wet straw as fast as I can to get ahead of the heat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The work repeats itself with purpose. The horses need water and salt because it is hot. They need food because they are hungry. They move away from pain because pain hurts. Their needs are familiar to my own. I\u2019m a collection of movements. I practice indifference and patience while dragging my feet. My arms tan, my hair lightens and my muscles tone each day. At night I stand naked in the shower and watch brown water rush off my body in delicate rivers between the grooves of stained porcelain tile. Sometimes the brown turns red and I search myself for a cut. I find it and touch it and feel it sting. Several days later it becomes another thin white scar and I think this is the body archiving time and time is violent without permission.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>What would it feel like to hear you forgive yourself:<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>I\u2019m sorry\u2026 I don\u2019t know what I was thinking\u2026 I\u2019m afraid but I\u2019ll do it afraid\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>You taught me something I wish I didn\u2019t know which is that a person can recognize his fear and still submit himself to it. You said you didn\u2019t have the wherewithal to see it through. Wherewithal. I keep thinking about the word. Wherewithal. It\u2019s so heavy in my mouth. Makes it sound like love requires technique.&nbsp;<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Imagining you, reaching into your pockets and finding yourself short of some necessary and yet imaginary equipment. You could describe your fear in every possible way except as fear. You turned it slowly in your hands, studying every damaged and chipped surface and then calling it something else: timing, capacity, context, reality or whatever bullshit you gave me. You hurt me and remained the most wounded person in the room and the worst part was that I understood. Understanding is the most degrading talent I possess. Please relieve me of all this goddamn forgiveness I carry.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Marta teaches me how to clean the horses\u2019 hooves. I stand beside the palomino, Summer, facing her tail and run my hand down the long bone of her leg until she shifts her weight into me. I squeeze the tendon above the fetlock and she lifts her hoof into my hand. I cradle the hard black crescent of her hoof between my knees and scrape away packed mud with a pick. Underneath everything is a pale and tender triangular softness, hidden beneath six hundred pounds of horse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDon\u2019t dig into that.\u201d Marta says. \u201cIt\u2019s sensitive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I\u2019m protecting what is soft and strong.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">A horse will show the whites of its eye when she\u2019s hurt. She will raise her head and tighten her body before running away. Her fear travels visibly through her body and after the danger passes and when her fear subsides she will lower her head back to the grass and grazes. She can return after being frightened like that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The wind comes down from the mountains in warm gusts smelling of juniper. I sit beneath a dead cottonwood, watching ants march over my boots. I hope to become one with the bark. I feel the ache of my body mimicked in the tree\u2019s deadened limbs.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I wish I had answers and maybe that\u2019s where my blame lies; in not knowing what question to even ask, only to feel everything pass through me like wind itself. I\u2019m honest with presence and there was none of you here.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">You had been less than earnest when you told me you loved me while becoming your own worst enemy and I try to hate you for this but hatred turns out to require a tremendous amount of imagination. I only miss you. I see you, up against the wall, inside yourself and I feel you so lonely too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The grief keeps collapsing beneath the weight of what I know, which is that you are scared. I remember you so easily, from before your hope calloused beneath fear. Perhaps because your courage and joy meant the most to me out of everything and everyone on earth.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>I remember the white scar on your hand, the names you called me, your cowlick, your fingers in my mouth, the animated silence when I kissed your cheek and then your jaw and then your chin and then your nose and then your cheek again because I could never finish kissing your face. I never want to stop loving you.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Some evenings I call my cousin John while he drives home from work and I can hear the turn signals in his car and the cars honking on the street battering the silence out here in the desert.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAre you eating?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou sleeping?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou sound terrible.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI work on a farm now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I started to cry uncontrollably. John interrupted my panic to say:<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHe\u2019s a fucking pussy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo, you don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI think he was just afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWell so is everyone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHe just gave up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cConvenient.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I hate John for saying it and love him for saying it and so I stop calling him as often.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>By the end of the summer, the nights sharpen and all I want is to forget. I just want to get it over with. I don\u2019t want to miss you. I don\u2019t want to hate you. I want to forget you like I know you are already forgetting me now.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Summer huffs from her stall, responding to a low, almost silent rolling sound or sensation that seemed to come from the earth beneath us. She turns her head and breathes across my shoulder and then bows and pushes her face towards my chest. In my head, I tell her <em>stop<\/em> and she does. I envy her ability to read minds. Marta enters behind me.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShe\u2019s a good listener, isn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I laugh and it surprises me how foreign it sounds to be lighthearted. I feel it catch in my ribs like an accident.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When the work is finished, I go back to the house and open a beer in the screened porch. I drink it slowly and then I drink the good tequila because tequila is quicker and I am tired of waiting. The wind stops suddenly and silence enters everything. The sky is painfully beautiful and I resent it because I am surviving with the impression that nothing should be allowed to look this beautiful while I feel this bad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I miss you least when the night is far away enough from the day that all I feel is hatred. In the daylight, I love you so much that I make excuses for you and give you grace and then I give you some more. I have an infinite amount of grace for you which is an unfortunate thing to discover about oneself.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>I would do anything for you. I would even let you go. Maybe especially that.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I pour another tequila. The first makes me relax. The second makes my blood boil. By the third I am sitting on the kitchen floor with my back against the cabinets replaying your words and deepening the wound with the original blade you lanced into me. I asked if you loved me and you went quiet and then finally you said:&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI should go\u2026 Yeah, I\u2019m gonna go\u2026 Bye\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I\u2019m realizing that a coward avoids love by eventually fusing his lack of <em>wherewithal <\/em>with his identity. He will convince himself that he cannot accept love and eventually he will believe it to be a distraction from his <em>true self<\/em>: wounded, martyr, misunderstood, desperado, failure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I wonder how much of a person is simply just the things they want but repeatedly refuse to accept out of sheer masochism or foolishness. For a moment I feel relief. I want to thank you for this blessing; for showing me your cowardice with so much resolve that I could almost certainly accept it as stupidity or pride and therefore wasteful but the horrible and simple truth is that I love you, in spite and regardless of your angst and frailty; even when you bear the most unfair and selfish malice towards me, I know you posses it more cruelly towards yourself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The condensation from the cold glass, pressed to my cheek, bleeds into my tears. I put my boots on without socks and follow my hot head outside. The ground tips beneath me and the rocks shift underneath my boots. I notice the horses lift their heads and it occurs to me that they have never seen me drunk. I have the strange impression that they know this too. I climb the metal gate instead of opening it because opening it would require the sequence of small and sane gestures I am no longer interested in performing. The tequila splashes over my hand as I swing my leg across. I drop into the pasture hard enough that the earth reverbs into me. Summer stands near a cottonwood, her mane lifting slightly in the breeze as she watches me waltz.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Grasshoppers propel themselves from my path. I\u2019m brazen out here tonight. The earth still holds the heat of the day and the dry grass kisses my legs with tiny soft brushes. I curve towards Summer\u2019s shoulder so she can see me and I offer her the back of my hand. Her breath is warm and grassy. I notice the first star appear above the northern mesa although I think it might actually be a planet. I don\u2019t know the difference and suddenly I don\u2019t think knowing the names of things has helped me very much to begin with. I can only see the little point of light and how it crosses all that darkness just to touch the wet black surface of Summer\u2019s eye. I run my hand along her neck and feel her dusty coat, somehow coarse and impossibly soft at once. I tell her I will give her a bath tomorrow. Beneath her coat I can feel the machinery of her. The muscle and bone in her enormous body manufacturing life without once having to think of it. Summer lowers her face into my waist, offering her head and so I stroke the white blaze between her eyes. She doesn\u2019t move so I move closer. Everything is quiet but not silent, because true silence is impossible among living things full of blood like this. I feel the grass against grass. I hear metal cooling and ticking. My own heart behaving terribly inside my chest. I imagine the border between our bodies becoming thinner and being blood. I imagine sorrow leaving my body through my arms and entering her enormous skull and moving through her long back and down her legs through four black hooves and finally into the earth where hopefully it will become something useful like soil; anything but mine or at least rooted. I start crying quietly because I find it so humiliating. My tears fall from my face onto hers. I put both arms around the column of her neck and lean deeper into her warmth. I know not to embrace her this way, to hold too tightly or place my human need onto an animal and expect her to carry it, but heartbreak narrows the world until everything looks as though it posseses the exact dimensions of what I have lost, and for a moment Summer is the only warm body left on earth. And so I hold on and press my cheek against her. I think without knowing what I am asking for.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Please\u2026 Please\u2026 Please\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Then something moves behind her. There is no sound. Her head flies up and the white of her eye flashes.<em> <\/em>Every muscle becomes fear at once. She spins and I see one black hoof rise and then the other. The first hits the inside of my left knee. The second hits the outside of my right. Two blunt knocks and then flatness. First my shoulder and then my face hit the ground and dirt enters my mouth. For one second there is no pain, only the enormous fact of impact and the percussion of the herd scattering around me like traffic. I open my mouth and drag air over dirt. Something hot blooms inside both my knees. I am suddenly down here, on the level of grass and hooves and stones and shit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The horses stand several yards away with their heads lowered, looking at me while I cough and groan and whimper. The world is on a tilt and I can feel my whole being shake. Even the mountains roar on their sides. I get onto my hands and knees and for a moment I cannot remember what people are supposed to do after being hurt. <em>Stand?<\/em> Summer\u2019s hoof had torn through denim and skin. My hands shake so badly they rattle the metal fence when I hop it. At the top I sit astride the rail and look back into the pasture at the horses disappearing into shadows and for a moment I see myself still lying there in the dirt whimpering. <em>I have been that girl. I am this woman and I feel equally boundless as both. I have infinite capacities.&nbsp;<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I walk to the house without limping because I am in shock and shock is a magnificent liar. I grab an ice pack from the freezer and I sit on the kitchen floor and then whatever small structure had been holding myself together up until then falls apart. I fold onto the floor breathing loudly, one hand on my heart and the other moving through my hair until both hands find my ears and I cover them as if the sound is coming from outside of myself. I sob so hard none of my cries can finish before another one begins. They pile on top of each other unfinished. Broken breaths coming from somewhere more ancient than language. The scream takes the last air from me. I claw at the floor. <em>Where did your love go?<\/em> I fold over my knees but it hurts and so I fall onto my side. The blood smearing underneath me, my boots sliding in mud on the tile floor. I think I may be dying from this massive pain inside. The edges of the kitchen begin turning black and I realize with terrible fear that vision is something that can be taken away too. <em>Nothing is real.<\/em> I am suddenly so small. I did not know how small my body was until I tried to scream myself out of being. I put my face to the floor because the floor is cold and real and incapable of leaving, it collects my blood but does not absorb it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I never knew love before you and now I know an immeasurable pain. I hate the mercy of understanding because I am lying here with my knees split open, knowing that soon they will become scars, while somewhere you are living a life where this night has not happened. I&nbsp;breathe in the smallest dose of air. I am still on the kitchen floor, wavering and yet optimistic because I will make my own body a scar and protect the softness within myself, while you are making whatever peace you can with the choice you made; knowing I will always forgive you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Tomorrow I will wash the dirt out and limp for a few days. I will forgive Summer because she is a horse and because, unlike us, she has never pretended her fear was anything other than fear. I will watch the red become black become purple become yellow beneath my skin. I will lick my wounds because nobody else is coming to lick them. This is what becoming a woman has been trying to teach me all along; not how to avoid being hurt but how to be the animal that can survive it without becoming hard. I\u2019m teetering the line between animal and woman here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I know it\u2019s true because I have no choice.&nbsp;I will come back soft in the same places I did when I fell in love, but the next time a man lets his fear decide for him, I will know what I am looking. I will know it to be weakness. I will know it to be the other side of love.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I am already falling in love again, laughing this time.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Summer has lowered her head, tearing the grass from the earth like an animal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Ginger Jones<\/strong> is a poet from California.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>All of my departures have introduced me to new versions of myself but I\u2019m beginning to resent the idea that there is still so much left to become. I am hoping crossing borders will show me what love has yet to grant me: freedom.&nbsp; I arrive in New Mexico hoping to better acquaint myself with service and solitude, to become more discerning and lighthearted. The farm is in a town checkerboarded between reservations and gas stations. Everything here is brown and low to the ground. The adobe houses look like they have been pushed gently down into the earth by&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20434,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20432","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"All of my departures have introduced me to new versions of myself but I\u2019m beginning to resent the idea that there is still so much left to become. I am hoping crossing borders will show me what love has yet to grant me: freedom.&nbsp; I arrive in New Mexico hoping to better acquaint myself with service and solitude, to become more discerning and lighthearted. The farm is in a town checkerboarded between reservations and gas stations. Everything here is brown and low to the ground. The adobe houses look like they have been pushed gently down into the earth by...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-18T12:21:37+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-18T12:21:38+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/jones-post.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-18T12:21:37+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-18T12:21:38+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":3167,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/jones-post.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/jones-post.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-18T12:21:37+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-18T12:21:38+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/jones-post.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/jones-post.webp\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones","og_description":"All of my departures have introduced me to new versions of myself but I\u2019m beginning to resent the idea that there is still so much left to become. I am hoping crossing borders will show me what love has yet to grant me: freedom.&nbsp; I arrive in New Mexico hoping to better acquaint myself with service and solitude, to become more discerning and lighthearted. The farm is in a town checkerboarded between reservations and gas stations. Everything here is brown and low to the ground. The adobe houses look like they have been pushed gently down into the earth by...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-18T12:21:37+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-18T12:21:38+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/jones-post.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones","datePublished":"2026-09-18T12:21:37+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-18T12:21:38+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":3167,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/jones-post.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/","name":"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/jones-post.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-18T12:21:37+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-18T12:21:38+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/jones-post.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/jones-post.webp","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/i-will-make-my-body-a-scar-by-ginger-jones\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"I Will Make My Body a Scar by Ginger Jones"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20432","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20432"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20432\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20459,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20432\/revisions\/20459"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20434"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20432"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20432"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20432"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20432"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20425,"date":"2026-09-17T05:03:20","date_gmt":"2026-09-17T12:03:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20425"},"modified":"2026-09-17T05:06:09","modified_gmt":"2026-09-17T12:06:09","slug":"the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The dad is test driving a truck from a used car dealership in order to pick up a refrigerator he found on Craigslist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He tells the salesman, \u201cI need to show it to my wife,\u201d and takes the keys and revs the engine and he flashes the grin he saves special for when he\u2019s fucking someone over.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The salesman smiles back and it&#8217;s the same kind of smile. Practiced. The muscles taut. A smile built for marathons.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">They\u2019re having themselves a little smile off through the truck\u2019s open window, smiling and smiling, until the son climbs into the passenger seat and the dad shoots a wink at the salesman. A nice clean wink. It\u2019s such a good wink that the salesman\u2019s smile flickers. One little twitch, like the wink smacked him in the lips. And right that moment, just as the salesman is reeling, the dad pulls out of the lot with a tap of the horn and he\u2019s laughing his hacking laugh and the son can\u2019t help but laugh too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The dad fiddles with the radio and a song comes on and it\u2019s Bob Seger and the dad says, \u201cOh HELL YEAH!\u201d and he has his arm out the window and he\u2019s slapping the side of the truck and he\u2019s singing it hard as shit. The son doesn\u2019t know the song but he\u2019s got his arm out the window and he&#8217;s slapping the side of the truck and by the end he\u2019s singing right along. Air guitaring. Rocking out.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShow \u2018em how to do it boy! Yeah! HELL YEAH!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The house with the refrigerator is kind of shitty and the truck bounces while backing into the crumbling asphalt driveway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNice suspension on this baby,\u201d says the dad. \u201cYessir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">They back to the garage and the seller comes outside and he looks sleepy and bored. The dad slowly circles the refrigerator, asking all sorts of questions the seller has no interest in answering. The seller doesn\u2019t seem like he cares at all. \u201cIt came with the house,\u201d is pretty much the only answer he\u2019s willing to give.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The dad rummages through the freezer and starts pulling apart the icemaker and the seller shifts and checks his phone twice then finally says, \u201cSo. You gonna buy it or what?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat about the freeze guard?\u201d says the dad, poking his head back out. \u201cI don\u2019t see it here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The dad says it\u2019s not too big a deal, except when he looked up the refrigerator online it said the freeze guard generally came standard with this particular model, and although it isn&#8217;t technically necessary, he was banking on it a little bit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou know how it is,\u201d says the dad, smiling that twinkle twinkle smile of his. \u201cYou get excited.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The seller doesn\u2019t argue, just shrugs and takes a couple bucks off, even tosses in a heavy duty tarp to lay out in the truck bed. Money is exchanged without a handshake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">They look from the fridge to the truck and say things like, \u201cHow about we\u2026\u201d and \u201cWhat do you think\u2026\u201d then decide to just slide the thing on its side and they heave and they haw and they get that sucker in the truck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It\u2019s harder to get the refrigerator off at home. The son is just a boy. The dad climbs up onto the truck bed and rocks the fridge until about a third of it is hanging off the back edge then tells the boy to hop on up. He tells the boy to get in the space between the cab of the truck and the refrigerator.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He says, \u201cYeah, hold your legs like that. Be ready to push. And push hard.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The dad gets down and tries a couple different grips then settles on one and yells, \u201cPush!\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The son pushes and he\u2019s clamping his jaw and turning red and the dad is clamping his jaw and turning red and they heave and they haw and they get that sucker off the truck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The dad&#8217;s grip slips just as the refrigerator touches the ground and it tilts sideways and he says, \u201cWhoa! Whoa! WHOA!\u201d and scrambles to catch it against his thigh.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShit, boy,\u201d he says, breathing hard and beaming. \u201cAny harder you woulda pushed her right through the damn kitchen.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">They leave it there in the driveway and head back to the used car dealership. The salesman greets the dad with his sucker\u2019s smile and starts going on about how nice the truck is and that even he&#8217;s surprised at the low price.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The dad lifts his palm to quiet the salesman. \u201cHold up,\u201d he says. \u201cMy wife didn\u2019t like it.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The used car salesman says there might be room for flexibility and to just let him talk to his boss but the dad cuts him off again.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cBuddy,\u201d he says, pulling out his grin. \u201cShe says it\u2019s a piece of shit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Alex Rost<\/strong> runs a commercial printing press outside Buffalo NY. His debut novel, Lazy Suicide is available on Back Patio Press.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The dad is test driving a truck from a used car dealership in order to pick up a refrigerator he found on Craigslist. He tells the salesman, \u201cI need to show it to my wife,\u201d and takes the keys and revs the engine and he flashes the grin he saves special for when he\u2019s fucking someone over.&nbsp; The salesman smiles back and it&#8217;s the same kind of smile. Practiced. The muscles taut. A smile built for marathons.&nbsp; They\u2019re having themselves a little smile off through the truck\u2019s open window, smiling and smiling, until the son climbs into the passenger seat&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20455,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20425","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The dad is test driving a truck from a used car dealership in order to pick up a refrigerator he found on Craigslist. He tells the salesman, \u201cI need to show it to my wife,\u201d and takes the keys and revs the engine and he flashes the grin he saves special for when he\u2019s fucking someone over.&nbsp; The salesman smiles back and it&#8217;s the same kind of smile. Practiced. The muscles taut. A smile built for marathons.&nbsp; They\u2019re having themselves a little smile off through the truck\u2019s open window, smiling and smiling, until the son climbs into the passenger seat...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-17T12:03:20+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-17T12:06:09+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/rost-post-3.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-17T12:03:20+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-17T12:06:09+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":881,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/rost-post-3.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/rost-post-3.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-17T12:03:20+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-17T12:06:09+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/rost-post-3.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/rost-post-3.webp\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost","og_description":"The dad is test driving a truck from a used car dealership in order to pick up a refrigerator he found on Craigslist. He tells the salesman, \u201cI need to show it to my wife,\u201d and takes the keys and revs the engine and he flashes the grin he saves special for when he\u2019s fucking someone over.&nbsp; The salesman smiles back and it&#8217;s the same kind of smile. Practiced. The muscles taut. A smile built for marathons.&nbsp; They\u2019re having themselves a little smile off through the truck\u2019s open window, smiling and smiling, until the son climbs into the passenger seat...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-17T12:03:20+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-17T12:06:09+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/rost-post-3.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost","datePublished":"2026-09-17T12:03:20+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-17T12:06:09+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":881,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/rost-post-3.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/","name":"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/rost-post-3.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-17T12:03:20+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-17T12:06:09+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/rost-post-3.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/rost-post-3.webp","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/the-dad-and-the-fridge-by-alex-rost\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"The Dad and The Fridge by Alex Rost"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20425","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20425"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20425\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20456,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20425\/revisions\/20456"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20455"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20425"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20425"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20425"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20425"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20422,"date":"2026-09-16T05:13:14","date_gmt":"2026-09-16T12:13:14","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20422"},"modified":"2026-09-16T05:13:14","modified_gmt":"2026-09-16T12:13:14","slug":"flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Flanagan&#8217;s Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The barmaid at Flanagan&#8217;s saw George come in and headed to meet him at his regular table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHow was your day, George?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIt was good, thank you. How was yours, Tammy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMine too. You remember me mentioning my son having his heart set on being a baseball player despite being small and not terribly athletic?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHe told me he was the only one in his class to solve an algebra problem.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cGood for him,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThen he said, I kinda like algebra. He said this as if he was embarrassed to admit it, like telling me he liked a girl in his class.&nbsp; The first time he\u2019s said anything positive about school.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThat&#8217;s great news,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI had to restrain myself from hugging him. You know how kids are. If a parent strongly praises something, they&#8217;ll start questioning their feelings about it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou&#8217;re a wise parent.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI don&#8217;t know about that. You do what you think is right and hope for the best.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe usual?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes, please.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The same crowd was at the bar, the old-timers and the newer regulars, all having a good time interacting. He had been coming to Flanagan&#8217;s for over a year but had never struck up a conversation with anyone except Tammy. He\u2019d never been able to make friends easily.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When he was very young, his nanny would take him to a playground. She would sit down on a bench, open a book, and tell him, Now go play with the other children. All the other children readily mixed, while he, acutely self conscious, stood on the fringes or circled. He always felt that something basic and instinctive was missing or defective in him<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George noticed a new person at a corner table and wondered whether his mind was playing tricks on him: why would his brother-in-law be in Ann Arbor?&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Laura, his wife, tried to reassure him. My brother is always reserved with people he doesn&#8217;t know well, she said. In time, he&#8217;ll warm up to you. But he never did.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The man stood up and advanced toward him. His expression was menacing and George was seized with fear.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat is it about me you find so fascinating?\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George realized that the man was not his brother-in-law.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSorry, didn&#8217;t mean to stare. You look so much like my brother-in-law.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYour brother-in-law?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes, on my cell phone, I have a picture he&#8217;s in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He found the photograph and passed the phone to the man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI see why you thought I was him.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMind?\u201d the man said as he pulled out a chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He continued to study the photograph.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI guess with eight billion people in the world, there&#8217;s bound to be someone that looks like you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIs that woman standing next to you your wife?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMy late wife,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI&#8217;m sorry to hear that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHow long ago?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cTwo years next month.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShe was lovely. You must miss her greatly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes, terribly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He handed back the cell phone, reluctantly it seemed to George.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThis is a nice tavern,\u201d the man said. \u201cYou come here regularly?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSeveral times a week. I like it because it&#8217;s near the Amtrak station.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI can relate. I lived several blocks from a Greyhound station when I was a kid. Every time I passed it, I would imagine getting on one of those buses. Never had a clear destination in mind. Just wanted to get out. A week after turning fifteen, I got the money to do it.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMy stepfather would go the bathroom before going to the racetrack. Most of the time he&#8217;d&nbsp; come out in a few moments without flushing the toilet, so I guessed that&#8217;s where he stashed his money. I found it in a cigar box under some removable boards in the vanity. $241. Figured he owed me that.&nbsp; I had to work at his garage the entire summer. Never got anything for it.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI suppose the Amtrak station has a different sentimental attachment for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI&#8217;d take the train to Chicago from here to spend the weekend with Laura\u2014that was my wife&#8217;s name.&nbsp; She was a student at the University of Chicago and I was a student here at U Mich.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHigh school sweethearts?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo. A friend of my college roommate&#8217;s girlfriend. Came over one weekend on a visit. I was invited to go out to dinner with them. We had a nice conversation at dinner, but I didn&#8217;t think anything would come of it. Out of my league. To my great surprise, she called a few days later.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWe got married right after graduation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe medical report said she died of a brain aneurysm.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShe suffered from headaches. I told her to see a doctor, but she brushed it off. My grandmother suffered from headaches all her life. She lived to be ninety three, she&#8217;d say. I should have been more insistent, but she seemed in excellent health otherwise. An avid runner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe night she died, I could tell it was especially bad. I kept checking on her every fifteen minutes or so. But then I got absorbed in my work. A math paper.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIf I had kept checking on her regularly, she might have been saved.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou can always think that if I did this or didn&#8217;t do that, something awful could have been prevented,\u201d the man said. \u201cMy mother had a friend who gave her grandson her car because she was worried about him walking home from work at night in a dangerous neighborhood.&nbsp; He was killed by a driver running a red light. She kept blaming herself. \u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The man motioned to Tammy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAnother gin and tonic, please.\u201d Then, turning to George, he said, \u201cWhat&#8217;s your poison?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI think I&#8217;ll have the same.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George tried to pay, but the man waved him off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou&#8217;ve lived in Ann Arbor since your student days?\u201d the man asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes, except for one semester when I was a visiting professor in France. Laura was fluent in French and really enjoyed it. We&#8217;d often go on vacation there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou&#8217;re not from here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo. Can&#8217;t really say I&#8217;m from any place. My job involves constant travel. One year, I kept an apartment in Atlanta. Thought you needed some place to return to or you&#8217;d lose your bearings. Nice place, pleasant neighborhood, but I ended up spending eighteen days total there that year. I didn&#8217;t renew the lease.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI don&#8217;t know how I&#8217;d feel waking up in a strange place every day,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou get used to it, as with anything in life. And there&#8217;s an upside. You&#8217;re not tied down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDon&#8217;t you get lonely?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou can always find company, even if you have to pay for it. But, yeah, sometimes when I see\u00a0a couple who appear genuinely in love. Then I remind myself how every couple I\u2019d known, whether they started off in love or not, ended up being miserable together.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI think certain people are incapable of being in a long-term happy relationship. Maybe they&#8217;re missing some gene or maybe they never had a role model to learn what it takes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou were never in love?\u201d George said, then regretted asking a stranger such a personal question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHard to say. There was a girl a couple houses down from me that I cared for. Maybe more like a sister than a romantic partner. We were in the same boat. Alternately abused and neglected. I told her about my plan to leave. She begged me to take her along. I told her that wasn&#8217;t possible, but I&#8217;d come back for her when I got settled. I meant it when I promised her that. But then I kept pushing back the time, telling myself I&#8217;d wait until I got a better paying job, saved up more money, had a decent place to live. Of all the things I did in my life, not keeping that promise was the one thing I feel bad about.&nbsp; Realistically, I wouldn&#8217;t have been able to provide her with the life she deserved.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He ordered another round of drinks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou never get tired of all that travel?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSometimes. The funny thing is that when I&#8217;m at one place for more than a few days, I get restless. But the reality is, I won&#8217;t be able to do it much longer. It&#8217;s not a job for old men.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou plan to change careers?\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo, the skills I&#8217;ve developed don&#8217;t carry over to other lines of work and I&#8217;m too old a dog to learn new tricks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSo you&#8217;re thinking about retiring?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cUp to this year, I&#8217;ve never thought about it, to tell you the truth. Didn&#8217;t see how it applied to me. Lately, I&#8217;ve been thinking it might be a real possibility.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAny particular place you&#8217;re thinking of retiring to?\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSome place warm. Greece or Spain, where you don&#8217;t need to dress for the seasons. Where the locals are friendly, but know when you want to be left alone. Where everything you need is within walking distance.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThere would be a restaurant where I&#8217;d become a regular. Be on friendly terms with the owner and staff. Maybe get to know some of the locals, enough to have dinner with once in a while\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He stopped himself there as if he were embarrassed to go on.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSounds nice,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWho knows?&nbsp; I might grow bored to death in a few weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat about you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI have no plans other than what I&#8217;m doing now,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou&#8217;re still young. You should get back on the saddle.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI can&#8217;t see myself going through the dating thing at this point of my life, not that I was ever good at it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou managed to get Laura. You had to be doing something right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThat was a fluke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou&#8217;re selling yourself short. Take the barmaid. You&#8217;ve obviously charmed her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cShe&#8217;s friendly with everyone,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNot in the same way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The man must have received a message, because, in mid-sentence, he took out his cell phone\u00a0from his jacket pocket. There seemed to be a sudden change in his expression, but he reverted back to form so quickly that George wondered whether he had imagined it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou&#8217;re a mathematician, you said?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes,\u201d George said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIs that what you&#8217;ve always wanted to be?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhen I was young,\u201d George said, \u201cI would have preferred to be good at something like sports.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMy parents signed me up for tennis and soccer lessons, expecting me to follow in their footsteps, both being athletic, winning trophies at their country club tournaments. But I was always the worst one in my group. I&#8217;d see the embarrassment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMy father was the captain of his high school baseball team,\u201d the man said. \u201cLed it to the state championship. My mother was the head cheerleader. The two were probably the most envied students in their school.&nbsp; Prom king and queen. But that was the high point in their lives. Didn&#8217;t have what it takes to get to the next step.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMaybe if they didn&#8217;t have that brush with glory, they would have been content with an ordinary life with its little pleasures and comforts.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThere&#8217;s little glory in being a mathematician,\u201d George said. \u201cI don&#8217;t think more than one in a hundred persons could name a notable living mathematician. And many people have had bad experiences with mathematics. Once, on a plane, when I told a woman I was a mathematician, she lit into me as if I were to blame for her not getting into a college because of a low calculus grade.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSo what made you decide on mathematics?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIn high school, I was actually more interested in political science. I was idealistic and had big ideas about making the world better, or so I thought.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat changed your mind?\u201c<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhenever I expressed an idea in class, it was dismissed or ridiculed. Some of those ideas were naive and not well thought out and I would have accepted the criticism. But I was never attacked for flaws in my reasoning. It was always personal. I was told if I wasn&#8217;t happy with how things were in America, I should live in the Soviet Union.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI thought college would be different. There the students would be more liberal minded than in my affluent, conservative community. But things weren&#8217;t much better. In some ways, worse. I wasn&#8217;t attacked for my political views, which were basically the same as my classmates&#8217;. I was just ignored. When I expressed an idea, there was no reaction. And then when someone with a more dynamic personality essentially repeated what I had said minutes before, he&#8217;d be praised for his insight. I realized that to be successful in political science and most academic fields you had to be a showman. Since academics were the only thing I was good with, I found a field where you didn&#8217;t need to be charismatic.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMy stepfather had what people called a big personality,\u201d the man said. \u201cHe also took credit for what others did.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIn his garage, there was an ace mechanic who could find what was wrong with a car that stumped other master mechanics. Most of the time he&#8217;d determine what the problem was just by listening to the engine.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAfter the car was repaired, my stepfather would repeat to the customer what the mechanics had said was the problem, making it seem he was the one that figured it out. On his own, my he could barely fix a flat tire. By the time I left home, I knew more about cars than he did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As they continued to talk, George noticed that the man seemed increasingly distracted. There were abrupt breaks in his sentences and his thoughts trailed off. This was most evident when a person came into the tavern. George wondered whether the man was expecting to meet someone, but if&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">so, it was not someone familiar, as he kept scrutinizing the new person for some time. Sometimes his eye repeatedly returned to a particular person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The man took out his cell phone, Again his expression suddenly changed. Annoyance?\u00a0Concern? George could not tell.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSorry, I have to go,\u201d the man said. \u201cBusiness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI didn&#8217;t catch your name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cGeorge.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI&#8217;m Jack. It was nice talking to you, George.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIt was nice talking to you, Jack.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Instead of directly leaving, Jack went to the restroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George hoped that Jack would be able to enjoy that retirement he described. He pictured him ambling down a narrow, winding street, a gait starkly different from the one he had observed, pausing to chat with locals. At the restaurant he frequented, the waitress headed to his regular table when she saw him enter, just as Tammy did with George. The owner would emerge from the kitchen for a friendly chat. Later, a local woman would join Jack at his table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Jack emerged from the restroom and walked out of the bar. George was disappointed that Jack had not turned to him with a nod or small wave, the way Tammy did every time he left Flanagan&#8217;s, but then decided Jack was in a hurry,&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George stopped at the restroom on his way out. He was relieved that nobody was there as he felt self-conscious and could not pee when someone was present. To make sure he was really alone, he glanced under the stall door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He spotted a man&#8217;s shoes. He instantly knew something was wrong, because the shoes were not flat on the floor, but pointed up with the soles exposed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIs everything all right?\u201d he said, standing a few feet from the stall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There was no answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDo you need help?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Again, no answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George gingerly opened the unlatched stall door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The man was propped on the toilet seat, his arms dangling from his sides, his neck bent at an odd angle.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George moved closer and determined that the man was not breathing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He was the man whom Jack seemed most interested in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">George left the restroom and went directly home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As he often did, especially before falling asleep, George had an imaginary conversation with Laura.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I don&#8217;t believe Jack&#8217;s a bad person. It could have been a setup, an ambush.&nbsp; Whatever Jack did in the restroom, I think he felt he had no other choice. It could be like that time he took the money in the cigar box. It was a desperate escape, but the law would deem it theft.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">If I were to show the police that photograph in which Jack could be your brother&#8217;s identical twin and revealed other information, it could have led to his apprehension. He&#8217;d likely spend the rest of his life in prison while people who do much more harm live openly in luxury. But maybe I&#8217;m romanticizing him, just like country folk romanticized Jesse James. Do you think I did the right thing by not informing the police?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">You have a good heart, George, he heard Laura&#8217;s voice tell him. You have to trust it to lead you&nbsp;to the right decision. As you have often said, Life is not black and white like mathematics.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Bogdan Dudzik<\/strong> was born in a displaced persons camp in Germany and then spent most of his childhood in metro Detroit. He worked at auto plants while attending college. Before he retired, he was the manager of the Slavic Languages Department at Mathematical Reviews in Ann Arbor, Michigan.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The barmaid at Flanagan&#8217;s saw George come in and headed to meet him at his regular table. \u201cHow was your day, George?\u201d she asked. \u201cIt was good, thank you. How was yours, Tammy?\u201d \u201cMine too. You remember me mentioning my son having his heart set on being a baseball player despite being small and not terribly athletic?\u201d \u201cYes?\u201d \u201cHe told me he was the only one in his class to solve an algebra problem.\u201d \u201cGood for him,\u201d George said. \u201cThen he said, I kinda like algebra. He said this as if he was embarrassed to admit it, like telling me&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20423,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20422","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Flanagan&#039;s Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Flanagan&#039;s Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The barmaid at Flanagan&#8217;s saw George come in and headed to meet him at his regular table. \u201cHow was your day, George?\u201d she asked. \u201cIt was good, thank you. How was yours, Tammy?\u201d \u201cMine too. You remember me mentioning my son having his heart set on being a baseball player despite being small and not terribly athletic?\u201d \u201cYes?\u201d \u201cHe told me he was the only one in his class to solve an algebra problem.\u201d \u201cGood for him,\u201d George said. \u201cThen he said, I kinda like algebra. He said this as if he was embarrassed to admit it, like telling me...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-16T12:13:14+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/xray-30.png\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/png\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"Flanagan&#8217;s Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-16T12:13:14+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":3033,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/xray-30.png\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"Flanagan's Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/xray-30.png\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-16T12:13:14+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/xray-30.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/xray-30.png\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Flanagan&#8217;s Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Flanagan's Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Flanagan's Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik","og_description":"The barmaid at Flanagan&#8217;s saw George come in and headed to meet him at his regular table. \u201cHow was your day, George?\u201d she asked. \u201cIt was good, thank you. How was yours, Tammy?\u201d \u201cMine too. You remember me mentioning my son having his heart set on being a baseball player despite being small and not terribly athletic?\u201d \u201cYes?\u201d \u201cHe told me he was the only one in his class to solve an algebra problem.\u201d \u201cGood for him,\u201d George said. \u201cThen he said, I kinda like algebra. He said this as if he was embarrassed to admit it, like telling me...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-16T12:13:14+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/xray-30.png","type":"image\/png"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"Flanagan&#8217;s Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik","datePublished":"2026-09-16T12:13:14+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":3033,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/xray-30.png","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/","name":"Flanagan's Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/xray-30.png","datePublished":"2026-09-16T12:13:14+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/xray-30.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/xray-30.png","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/flanagans-tavern-by-bogdan-dudzik\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Flanagan&#8217;s Tavern by Bogdan Dudzik"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20422","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20422"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20422\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20451,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20422\/revisions\/20451"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20423"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20422"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20422"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20422"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20422"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20419,"date":"2026-09-15T05:20:31","date_gmt":"2026-09-15T12:20:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20419"},"modified":"2026-09-15T05:20:34","modified_gmt":"2026-09-15T12:20:34","slug":"andrew-farkas-recommends","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Andrew Farkas Recommends"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>My cinematic education started pretty early. My mom introduced me to Humphrey Bogart films and my dad to the Marx Brothers and Elvira\u2019s Movie Macabre all before I was a teenager. Later, I would attend Steve Byrd\u2019s Basement School of Cinematic History (that consisted of a solid wall of VHS tapes from floor to ceiling and even laser discs) and John Schloman\u2019s Arthouse Academy (that mostly involved traveling to the Cedar Lee Theatre in Cleveland). During this same time, a number of my friends and I regularly went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then started a New Year\u2019s Eve tradition that continues to this day: Bad Movie Night (where each one of us, Steve, John, Scott, Jim, and Jenny, all pick one entertainingly bad film to share and, sure, mock).&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large is-resized\"><img decoding=\"async\" width=\"640\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image5-640x1024.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20437\" style=\"aspect-ratio:0.6250070561670901;width:249px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image5-640x1024.png 640w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image5-187x300.png 187w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image5-768x1229.png 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image5-960x1536.png 960w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image5-558x894.png 558w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image5.png 992w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Since I was already used to movies being a major part of my life (both for lauding and making fun of), when I found Roger Ebert\u2019s Bigger Little Movie Glossary (1999), which, as the subtitle tells us, is a \u201cCompendium of Movie Clich\u00e9s, Stereotypes, Obligatory Scenes, Hackneyed Formulas, Shopworn Conventions, and Outdated Archetypes,\u201d it seemed to be written directly for my gang. Like a version of Ambrose Bierce\u2019s The Devil\u2019s Dictionary (1911) or Gustave Flaubert\u2019s Dictionary of Received Ideas (1913) for film, here Ebert lampoons everything from the fact that killers talk too much, that action movies will often end in factories that apparently produce smoke and nothing else, that ghosts never appear until the house is sold, that science fiction laboratories are full of colorful chemicals and steaming beakers (to say nothing about Tesla coils and Jacob\u2019s ladders), that rope and plank bridges only exist to fall apart, and so on. It\u2019s probably not a surprise that I used the Bigger Little Movie Glossary as if it were a collection of writing prompts for my <a href=\"https:\/\/whiskeytit.com\/product\/movies-are-fine-for-a-bright-boy-like-you\/\">Movies Are Fine for a Bright Boy Like You: Fictions<\/a> (Whisk(e)y Tit, 2026) because, along with my friends, along with my film professors (Bob West at Kent State and Chuck Maland at Tennessee), Roger Ebert was definitely a big influence on my education in cinema.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>I am therefore interested in works of fiction that use cinema, in some way, as part of their style or subject matter\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"584\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image3-584x1024.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20439\" style=\"aspect-ratio:0.5703149913191369;width:248px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image3-584x1024.png 584w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image3-171x300.png 171w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image3-768x1347.png 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image3-876x1536.png 876w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image3-510x894.png 510w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image3.png 908w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 584px) 100vw, 584px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Gabriel Blackwell\u2019s <\/strong><a href=\"http:\/\/www.gabrielblackwell.com\/madeleine-e.html\"><strong><em>Madeleine E.<\/em><\/strong><\/a><strong> (Outpost 19, 2016)<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Alfred Hitchcock said that it\u2019s easier to make a good movie from a bad or mediocre book (a paraphrase from his interview with Fran\u00e7ois Truffaut, obviously) than from an excellent book, the idea being the excellent book has already found its true form. I therefore believe that Gabriel Blackwell\u2019s <em>Madeleine E.<\/em> will never be made into a good movie because this novel is absolutely stellar. Honestly, and I know I\u2019m risking alienating not only my readers, but Gabe himself, I think Blackwell outdoes Hitchcock (cue the throwing of tomatoes). My reasoning is this: there is a split in Hitchcock criticism, some folks saying that Hitchcock is the Master of Suspense, but that is all; while others claim there is a great deal more than just suspense. I tend to agree with the former group, though I\u2019d bet Blackwell agrees with the latter. Since <em>Madeleine E.<\/em> focuses on <em>Vertigo<\/em> (1958), a movie about a character (Judy) who pretends to be another character (Madeleine) only later to be asked for very different reasons to play the same role again, you can bet that Blackwell is going to present us with a mind-bending take on identity and performance in his book. But instead of this novel being a kind of murder mystery, it\u2019s a look at how we approach reality, how we access reality. One way to do this is through art. Except art is, of course, highly fictional much of the time. We could then stick with memoir because that\u2019s reality. Except memoir can never contain everything, so how much is lost through the editing process? Okay, then use observations from other people in order to ground your work. Blackwell does that too, employing at times the David Markson style from <em>This Is Not a Novel<\/em> and <em>The Last Novel<\/em>, but the dizzying quotes make us wonder who we can trust. Art by itself doesn\u2019t work; memoir (although grounded in reality) doesn\u2019t work; plurality, which can lead to confusion, doesn\u2019t work; and all three Voltroned together doesn\u2019t exactly work either. Yeah, only to me this is Blackwell\u2019s genius: I walk away from <em>Vertigo<\/em> thinking, \u201cThat was a masterful murder mystery imbued with the sadness inherent in romantic relationships,\u201d while I walk away from <em>Madeleine E.<\/em> wondering why I think I know what I think I know about the world, about other people, about myself.&nbsp; <\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"680\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image4-680x1024.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20441\" style=\"aspect-ratio:0.6640671469169255;width:272px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image4-680x1024.png 680w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image4-199x300.png 199w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image4-768x1157.png 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image4-594x894.png 594w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image4.png 838w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 680px) 100vw, 680px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Percival Everett\u2019s <\/strong><a href=\"https:\/\/www.graywolfpress.org\/books\/dr-no\"><strong><em>Dr. No<\/em><\/strong><\/a><strong> (Graywolf Press, 2022)<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">If the title of Percival Everett\u2019s novel seems familiar that\u2019s because it\u2019s also the title of Ian Fleming\u2019s sixth James Bond book and the first Bond film starring Sean Connery. In Everett\u2019s hands, though, the protagonist of <em>Dr. No<\/em> is the anti-James Bond. He isn\u2019t an action hero. He isn\u2019t a superspy. He isn\u2019t sexy (in fact, when we meet him, our main character has never really dated or had sex at all). He owns an adorable one-legged dog. His name is Wala Kitu, a mathematics professor who specializes in, well, nothing. That doesn\u2019t mean he\u2019s become a slacker. Instead, Professor Kitu knows more than anyone else alive about the concept of nothing. Having an extreme amount of knowledge about a particular topic might sound like a trait an Ian Fleming\/Albert R. Broccoli character would have, but Kitu himself explains that it\u2019s pretty much impossible to truly know anything about nothing. Other than being nothing like Bond, James Bond, how does <em>Dr. No<\/em> end up getting stuck in with the general milieu it\u2019s playing with?&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Enter John Sill, a character who understands that he does not live in the world of James Bond, but all the same wants to use his billions of dollars to become an honest to goodness Bond villain. Well, uh, how does he plan on doing that? According to Sill\u2019s research, Fort Knox, contrary to what Auric Goldfinger believes, is not full of gold; it\u2019s full of nothing. Again, as is common in Everett\u2019s <em>Dr. No<\/em>, that doesn\u2019t mean what you think it means. Instead, Fort Knox contains the I\u2019m going to go with purest physical manifestation of nothing in the world. What does that mean? What could that possibly be? Sill isn\u2019t sure, but he figures Kitu does.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">If you find yourself wondering who the Bond girl is in this book, if you find yourself wondering if it could possibly have one, the answer is Eigen Vector, an astrophysicist colleague of Kitu\u2019s who gets, shall we say, caught up in the action (seeing as how she becomes Sill\u2019s henchwoman). What I love about this book, along with its fascinating exploration of the concept of nothing (Everett has taken the Donald Barthelme writing exercise and transformed it into an awe-inspiring work of fiction), is the way it dismantles and reassembles common character types in order to show us that the reason we\u2019re so willing to embrace types and even clich\u00e9s is because underneath those is, you guessed it, nothing.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-full is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"584\" height=\"950\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image2.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20442\" style=\"aspect-ratio:0.6147604558200584;width:277px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image2.png 584w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image2-184x300.png 184w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image2-550x894.png 550w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 584px) 100vw, 584px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Brandi Homan\u2019s <\/strong><a href=\"https:\/\/brandihoman.com\/burn-fortune\/\"><strong><em>Burn Fortune<\/em><\/strong><\/a><strong> (CLASH Books, 2019)<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I suppose, if you live in a more dramatic landscape, your dreams might be influenced specifically by your environment. If you live in the flyover country, though, the void gives you a vast expanse to dream in, a seemingly limitless horizon to populate. Of course, part of that invented population is inhabited by the cinematic world. But June, the protagonist of Brandi Homan\u2019s <em>Burn Fortune<\/em>, doesn\u2019t only look west to Hollywood, she also looks east to the French New Wave and specifically to Jean Seberg, the Iowa girl who grew up and starred in <em>Saint Joan<\/em> and <em>Breathless<\/em>, amongst other films. And much as Seberg lived a tumultuous life, June does too. Sure, at first, it seems like everything\u2019s normal, the kind of normal that makes us think our main character will go through the time-honored tradition of hating where she\u2019s from and fantasizing about living a different life, either culminating in the acceptance of, in this case, Iowa, or the rejection of it and the expected lighting out for the territories. After all, at the beginning of <em>Burn Fortune<\/em>, June is a teenager with a boyfriend she plans on running away with. But after her high school hangs Jean Seberg movie posters in the auditorium celebrating the native daughter, June begins to change. She no longer sees herself in the smooth roles society expects of her, but instead in the thorny ones Seberg took on. This artistic awakening does not protect her from the hazards of life, since much as Seberg had the horrors descend upon her, so does June. After her horrific experience, she dismisses her old self and leans into her interest in Seberg. What I love about this coming of age novel, then, is the way film (like all art) can transform us, can help break us out of the tired formulae if we are willing to let it. &nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-full is-resized\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"538\" height=\"848\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image1.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20443\" style=\"aspect-ratio:0.6344628695025234;width:267px;height:auto\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image1.png 538w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/image1-190x300.png 190w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 538px) 100vw, 538px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>David Leo Rice\u2019s <\/strong><a href=\"https:\/\/altcurrentpress.com\/2024\/10\/22\/a-room-in-dodge-city-vol-2-the-blut-branson-era\/\"><strong><em>A Room In Dodge City 2: The Blut Branson Era<\/em><\/strong><\/a><strong> (Alternating Current Press, 2021)<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In a manner of speaking, I grew up in the shadow of Jim Jarmusch. He was a freshman in high school in Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, when my mom was a senior; he was a senior when my aunt and uncle were freshmen. This proximity always made me feel as if I were almost touched by one of the great ones, as if I were almost one of the great ones myself (or perhaps soon to take up the mantle of Jim Jarmusch). And after I learned who he was during my first year at Kent State University, I made sure to include him in with my list of famous people from Northeast Ohio, but always with a tinge of worriment that I might never become as good as him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I mention my inner experience with Jarmusch because, in a far more colossal way, Blut Branson hovers over David Leo Rice\u2019s fictional Dodge City (meaning, you know, not the one in Kansas), obliterating the hopes and dreams of anyone else because no matter what someone in Dodge City might invent, it was likely already created by Branson, or would immediately be denigrated by the Branson Industrial Complex (which operates an entire tourism industry based on the filmmaker, including a host of Original Birthplace of Blut Branson house museums). After all, it was Blut Branson who committed suicide and, immediately after his demise, directed his next film! Now, in Dodge City, all anyone can hope for is the chance to be inhabited by Branson for a while.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Here, David Leo Rice once again shows he\u2019s the rightful heir to the tradition set by two other Davids: Cronenberg (who is so important to <em>DC2<\/em>, he seems to be the avatar of some underworld god) and Lynch (pay special attention to what may be the most terrifying art installation ever). But along with the exploration of hero worship and artistic originality, much to my absolute joy, Rice makes this satire of the filmic world absolutely hilarious. Darkly hilarious? Well, sure. For Rice, there\u2019s no other kind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Andrew Farkas<\/strong> is the author of seven books: <em>The Great Indoorsman: Essays<\/em> (University of Nebraska Press), <em>The Big Red Herring<\/em> (KERNPUNKT Press), <em>Sunsphere: Stories<\/em> (BlazeVOX Books), <em>Self-Titled Debut: Stories<\/em> (Subito Press), <em>Are You Now or Have You Ever Been: Stories <\/em>(Alternating Current Press), <em>Movies Are Fine for a Bright Boy Like You: Fictions <\/em>(Whiskey Tit Books), and <em>The Ancient Mysteries of Las Vegas: a Play<\/em> (KERNPUNKT Press). He is also an Associate Professor of Creative Writing at Washburn University and an editor for <em>Always Crashing<\/em>. He can be found at <a href=\"https:\/\/thegreatindoorsman.org\/\">https:\/\/thegreatindoorsman.org\/<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>My cinematic education started pretty early. My mom introduced me to Humphrey Bogart films and my dad to the Marx Brothers and Elvira\u2019s Movie Macabre all before I was a teenager. Later, I would attend Steve Byrd\u2019s Basement School of Cinematic History (that consisted of a solid wall of VHS tapes from floor to ceiling and even laser discs) and John Schloman\u2019s Arthouse Academy (that mostly involved traveling to the Cedar Lee Theatre in Cleveland). During this same time, a number of my friends and I regularly went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then started a New Year\u2019s&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20420,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20419","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Andrew Farkas Recommends | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Andrew Farkas Recommends\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"My cinematic education started pretty early. My mom introduced me to Humphrey Bogart films and my dad to the Marx Brothers and Elvira\u2019s Movie Macabre all before I was a teenager. Later, I would attend Steve Byrd\u2019s Basement School of Cinematic History (that consisted of a solid wall of VHS tapes from floor to ceiling and even laser discs) and John Schloman\u2019s Arthouse Academy (that mostly involved traveling to the Cedar Lee Theatre in Cleveland). During this same time, a number of my friends and I regularly went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then started a New Year\u2019s...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-15T12:20:31+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-15T12:20:34+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/farkas-post.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"Andrew Farkas Recommends\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-15T12:20:31+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-15T12:20:34+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":2028,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/farkas-post.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"Andrew Farkas Recommends | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/farkas-post.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-15T12:20:31+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-15T12:20:34+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/farkas-post.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/09\\\/farkas-post.webp\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/andrew-farkas-recommends\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Andrew Farkas Recommends\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Andrew Farkas Recommends | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Andrew Farkas Recommends","og_description":"My cinematic education started pretty early. My mom introduced me to Humphrey Bogart films and my dad to the Marx Brothers and Elvira\u2019s Movie Macabre all before I was a teenager. Later, I would attend Steve Byrd\u2019s Basement School of Cinematic History (that consisted of a solid wall of VHS tapes from floor to ceiling and even laser discs) and John Schloman\u2019s Arthouse Academy (that mostly involved traveling to the Cedar Lee Theatre in Cleveland). During this same time, a number of my friends and I regularly went to The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then started a New Year\u2019s...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-15T12:20:31+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-15T12:20:34+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/farkas-post.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"Andrew Farkas Recommends","datePublished":"2026-09-15T12:20:31+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-15T12:20:34+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":2028,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/farkas-post.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/","name":"Andrew Farkas Recommends | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/farkas-post.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-15T12:20:31+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-15T12:20:34+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/farkas-post.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/09\/farkas-post.webp","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/andrew-farkas-recommends\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Andrew Farkas Recommends"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20419","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20419"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20419\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20444,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20419\/revisions\/20444"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20420"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20419"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20419"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20419"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20419"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20408,"date":"2026-09-14T05:21:18","date_gmt":"2026-09-14T12:21:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20408"},"modified":"2026-09-14T05:21:19","modified_gmt":"2026-09-14T12:21:19","slug":"westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-text-align-left wp-block-paragraph\">1.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">About a week before the deer trouble starts, the mayor of Westerntown is sitting with his wife in a swinging loveseat on their patio, and their three kids, the two boys, who are four and six, and the girl, who\u2019s almost two, are playing. The two boys are in the sandbox that\u2019s in the middle of the yard, building sandcastles, and the girl is pushing a fire truck around on a blanket that\u2019s been spread out on the ground next to where the mayor and his wife are sitting.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As the mayor and his wife relax and their kids play, two deer wander into the neighbor\u2019s yard and start having sex. The mayor\u2019s wife notices the two deer first. \u201cThat\u2019s weird,\u201d she says, pointing at the two deer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The mayor looks to where his wife is pointing. \u201cThat is weird,\u201d he says. \u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019ve ever seen deer having sex before.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The mayor\u2019s wife reaches over and takes the mayor\u2019s hand in hers. \u201cI really hate to spoil this special moment,\u201d she says, smiling ever so slightly. That smile is one of the many reasons why the mayor absolutely loves his wife. \u201cBut just to be safe.\u201d She gives his hand a little squeeze. \u201cDo you think we should bring the kids inside?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cSure,\u201d the mayor says, looking from his daughter to his sons, then over at the two deer. He gives his wife\u2019s hand a little squeeze back and adds, \u201cJust to be safe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">So, the mayor\u2019s wife picks up their daughter, and the mayor goes and grabs the two boys, one in each arm. The older boy starts asking questions immediately. Quite understandably, his first question being \u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWe\u2019re going inside,\u201d the mayor says.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhy?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cBecause of the deer.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat deer?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe deer in the neighbor\u2019s yard.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The mayor is about ten feet from the patio door, where his wife is standing with their daughter and waiting for him and the boys, when the older boy finally sees the two deer and asks the inevitable, which is \u201cWhat are they doing?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Even though this is the first time that any of his kids have ever asked him about anything related to sex, the mayor, who considers himself to be an expert at answering tough questions, is unfazed and says, \u201cThey\u2019re making a little baby deer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhy are they doing that?\u201d the older boy asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The mayor doesn\u2019t pause to reflect on the why of the whole thing. He simply says, \u201cBecause sometimes when two grownup deer meet, if they really like each other, they decide to make a little baby.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">After the mayor says what he\u2019s just said, he looks toward his wife and winks, and his wife smiles that slight smile of hers and rolls her eyes.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And once everyone\u2019s inside and the questions have stopped, the mayor doesn\u2019t give the two deer a second thought. He just sits on the couch with his kids and watches a cartoon about a three-legged dog and a squirrel who go on adventures together.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:40px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">2.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Westerntown is a regular town. And like any town, the residents work all sorts of different jobs, but the biggest employer is undoubtedly the plastic factory, which can be seen chugging along day and night in the industrial area on the edge of Westerntown. The plastic factory has recently started using a new formula. This is a big deal because the new formula allows the factory to produce plastic at a fraction of what it had previously cost to do so. The owner of the plastic factory was so excited that he threw a gala to announce the adoption of the new formula. The owner of the plastic factory absolutely loves the 1993 movie <em>Tombstone<\/em>. He loves the movie so much that he frequently dresses up as Doc Holliday and forces his employees to reenact different scenes from the movie. At the gala, the owner of the plastic factory, who was dressed up as Doc Holliday, put on a display of trick shooting the likes of which the town had never seen before.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:40px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">3.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">&nbsp;It\u2019s like a switch has been flipped. Deer are everywhere in Westerntown, and they\u2019re having sex nonstop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:41px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">4.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The mayor\u2019s secret is that back before the plastic factory started using the new formula, the guy who owns the plastic factory emailed him (the mayor) a report that concluded that the formula could have undesirable effects on local wildlife, in particular, on deer. The report also noted that it would be virtually impossible for any regulatory agency to establish a connection between the formula and any effects that it might have.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The mayor really didn\u2019t want to call and ask what was going on. The mayor and the guy who owns the plastic factory have been friends for years, ever since they fought together in Afghanistan, but even though they used to be super close, the mayor has started avoiding the guy who owns the plastic factory because whenever they talk, the guy who owns the plastic factory normally tries to get the mayor to agree to start participating in the reenactments. And just in general, the mayor also finds the way that the guy who owns the plastic factory has started speaking with a Southern accent, like Doc Holliday in <em>Tombstone<\/em>, kind of irritating. But given the situation, the mayor felt like he <em>had<\/em> to call.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhy hello there, Wyatt,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory said when he answered. Wyatt is not the mayor\u2019s name. For reference, Wyatt Earp is Doc Holliday\u2019s BFF in <em>Tombstone<\/em>.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWe need to talk about that report you just sent me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI thought I just sent you the video of my latest reenactment,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory said, switching back to his regular voice. There was a pause, during which time the mayor could hear a mouse distinctly being clicked. \u201cShit,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory eventually said. \u201cI uploaded the wrong file.\u201d Then, he asked, \u201cDid you happen to read the report?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThat\u2019s why I\u2019m calling.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cOkay,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory said, \u201cyou definitely shouldn\u2019t have done that, but I think the best thing for both of us would be to just move forward and forget about the report.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAre you actually going to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cLet me ask you a question,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory said. \u201cDo you want the plastic factory to close down?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAre you saying that you\u2019ll close the factory if you can\u2019t use that formula?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI just might have to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And here\u2019s the thing: the mayor has visited many towns that don\u2019t have plastic factories. He\u2019s spent time in those towns, and to put it plainly, he didn\u2019t like those towns. So, when the guy who owns the plastic factory made the threat, the mayor said, \u201cThat\u2019s funny,\u201d and did his best to laugh naturally, as if one of them had made a joke, before adding, \u201cThe email with the report just disappeared.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Of course, just saying that the email had been deleted wasn\u2019t good enough for the guy who owns the plastic factory. He insisted on doing a video call to first confirm that the email had in fact been deleted and then to watch the mayor smash his computer. But in the end, even though the whole thing had cost him the computer, the mayor still wound up feeling like a crisis had been averted.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:41px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">5.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The rumors that the new formula is causing the deer situation don\u2019t really bother the guy who owns the plastic factory. What really bothers him is when he starts to feel like the rumors are negatively impacting his latest reenactment because he takes reenactments very seriously. He\u2019s currently forcing a few of his employees to reenact the scene from <em>Tombstone<\/em> where Doc Holliday and Ike Clanton are playing cards. In the scene, Ike gets mad because he thinks that Doc is cheating, and Ike ends up getting arrested by Wyatt Earp\u2019s brother Virgil. For this particular reenactment, the guy who owns the plastic factory has had an exact replica built of the saloon where the scene takes place. In other words, as far as reenactments go, this one should be glorious, but the employee playing Ike, a guy named Toby, just doesn\u2019t seem committed to his performance. Toby had been wonderful during rehearsals. He\u2019d truly embodied Ike, but Toby just doesn\u2019t seem to be giving his all anymore. And as far as the guy who owns the plastic factory can tell, the only thing that\u2019s changed is that during the rehearsals, the rumors hadn\u2019t started swirling yet. While the guy who owns the plastic factory can\u2019t help but feel frustrated, at least initially, he simply encourages Toby. \u201cCome on, Toby,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory says. \u201cI believe in you.\u201d He gestures at the other employees who are playing various characters and adds, \u201cWe all believe in you.\u201d Eventually, the guy who owns the plastic factory starts giving Toby very direct suggestions, but even then, the guy who owns the plastic factory feels like Toby isn\u2019t really listening. So, during what becomes the final take, the guy who owns the plastic factory gets so worked up and outraged that he pulls out one of his six-shooters and shoots Toby in the shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:40px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">6.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The mayor holds a press conference in front of town hall. As the mayor speaks to the reporters and various townspeople who have gathered, deer are having sex on the lawn leading up to town hall and in the parking lot and in the street that runs past town hall. The mayor says that there\u2019s absolutely no evidence that the new formula is causing the deer situation. The mayor says that it\u2019s just a coincidence that the deer started acting the way that they\u2019re acting right after the factory started using the new formula. The mayor says that the town is lucky to have the plastic factory and that the people who are tossing around the unfounded allegations need to be more considerate because what they\u2019re doing is really upsetting the guy who owns said factory. The mayor concludes by saying that talks to try and get Toby rehired by the plastic factory are set to begin shortly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:40px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">7.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As it turns out, there\u2019s really only one talk. It\u2019s held at town hall and includes the mayor, Toby, and the guy who owns the plastic factory. The guy who owns the plastic factory shows up dressed as Doc Holliday and says that three things need to happen before he\u2019d be willing to rehire Toby: Toby has to apologize, the mayor has to agree to start playing Wyatt Earp in the reenactments, and a new holiday called \u201cPlastic Factory Appreciation Day\u201d (PFAD) will need to be created. As such, all three demands are quickly agreed to, and a few days after the press conference, the mayor announces the creation of PFAD. The event is billed as a celebration of the plastic factory, similar to the 4<sup>th<\/sup> of July, where the many people who absolutely love the plastic factory can start fighting back against the vocal minority who are being critical of the factory, and PFAD is going to be held in the center of town on the guy who owns the plastic factory\u2019s birthday, which is about a month and a half away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:40px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">8.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When the deer start charging anyone who gets within fifty feet of them when they\u2019re having sex, which is all the time, the mayor\u2019s wife says that enough is enough and takes the three kids and leaves town. Although the mayor is sad to see his family go, then sad and lonely once he realizes what it\u2019s going to be like without them, the mayor keeps telling himself that it\u2019s only temporary because he\u2019s convinced that if he can make it to PFAD, which is about a month away, a good portion of the townspeople will still attend the event despite the risk of getting attacked, and when the guy who owns the plastic factory sees how devoted so many of the townspeople are to the factory, he\u2019ll be inspired to do the right thing and stop using the new formula. So, the mayor has a little hope to cling to, and as he waits for PFAD, he begins walking around his house because he finds that the loneliness is somehow slightly less crushing when he\u2019s moving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When the guy who owns the plastic factory found out that the mayor\u2019s wife had left, he sent the mayor a basket of assorted jellies, and as the mayor walks around his house, he eats the raspberry apricot, orange fig, prickly pear, strawberry rhubarb, and pineapple mango jelly straight from the jar with a spoon and says things like \u201cThat\u2019s where my wife sits and reads,\u201d pointing at the oversized armchair in the living room, and \u201cThis is where my daughter eats,\u201d pointing at the high chair in the kitchen, as if giving someone a tour. Once the jelly runs out, the mayor just walks with the spoon rattling around inside an empty jar as he works on developing a very specific script, like any good tour guide, and he just keeps going through it. He stops going into his office at town hall, so he can focus on the script. And he even starts to think that if he can develop the absolutely perfect script, when his wife eventually returns with their kids, he\u2019ll be able to get things back to exactly how they were because he\u2019ll know exactly how they should be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:40px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">About two weeks before PFAD, the guy who owns the plastic factory calls the mayor and says that he (the guy who owns the plastic factory) is a genius and has come up with a solution to the deer problem. He\u2019s so excited that he\u2019s not speaking with a Southern accent. \u201cWe go on an epic deer hunt,\u201d he says, \u201cand if we start now, we could probably have the whole thing wrapped up by Plastic Factory Appreciation Day.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As a politician, the mayor has always prided himself on his willingness to compromise, but at this point, he can\u2019t take it anymore and simply says, \u201cOr you could just stop using the new formula.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou know, I\u2019ve been trying to cut you some slack because of your wife,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory says. \u201cI put the next reenactment on hold, and I didn\u2019t say anything when you never thanked me for the jelly basket. But this constant second-guessing has to stop.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d the mayor asks. \u201cWhat constant second-guessing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cJust last week,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory says, \u201cwhen I had to shoot those two employees, who I shot in the leg as a compromise by the way, when we talked afterward, you didn\u2019t check to see if I was okay or ask <em>why<\/em> I\u2019d shot them. You just started right in telling me that I can\u2019t shoot my employees anymore.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI wasn\u2019t just saying that,\u201d the mayor says. \u201cYou really do have to stop.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The guy who owns the plastic factory takes a deep breath, then exhales loudly. \u201cIf I can\u2019t shoot my employees anymore, how am I supposed to be an effective manager?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cLook, I\u2019m being serious,\u201d the mayor says, getting angry for the first time since this whole thing began. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you just stop using the new formula.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhy don\u2019t you just shut up,\u201d the guy who owns the plastic factory says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">To which the mayor replies, \u201cYou shut up.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">So, they start going back and forth, and the guy who owns the plastic factory ends up making a comment about the mayor\u2019s mother, which is a line you just don\u2019t cross with the mayor. But the guy who owns the plastic factory doesn\u2019t stop there. He even starts demanding a tax break for the factory. And when the mayor says that there\u2019s no way in hell that he could sell a tax break to the town council or anyone else right now, but even if he could, he wouldn\u2019t, the guy who owns the plastic factory says that the mayor is clearly unfit for office and needs to resign immediately. But when the mayor refuses, the guy who owns the plastic factory says that he wants to settle the dispute with a gunfight the next day at high noon. And the mayor, who\u2019s been raring to go since the comment about his mother, gladly accepts the challenge.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:40px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">10.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Normally, the fight would be held in the very center of town, right in front of town hall, but because of what\u2019s going on with the deer, it\u2019s determined that the fight will have to take place in the gym at the high school. The chief of police agrees to officiate, and the next day, before the fight begins, as the mayor sits by himself in one of the locker rooms at the high school and waits for the chief of police to tell him (the mayor) when it\u2019s time to start, the mayor\u2019s thinking about <em>Tombstone<\/em>. He\u2019s definitely seen the movie. The guy who owns the plastic factory has gifted the mayor numerous copies over the years. The mayor is well aware that toward the end of the movie, when Wyatt Earp agrees to fight Johnny Ringo, a fight that Wyatt comes to believe he can\u2019t win, although Doc Holliday acts like he\u2019s too sick with tuberculosis to help Wyatt, Doc somehow gets to the location where the fight is supposed to take place before Wyatt, then fights and defeats Johnny. But the mayor isn\u2019t thinking about how it\u2019s kind of ironic that the guy who owns the plastic factory has always viewed him (the mayor) as Wyatt, and in the movie, when Wyatt is about to get himself killed by Johnny, Doc steps in. The mayor\u2019s just thinking about how in <em>Tombstone<\/em>, the general consensus is that as a gunslinger, Doc Holliday is a force to be reckoned with. Johnny Ringo is the other badass gunslinger in the movie, and when Doc shows up to fight Johnny for Wyatt, even Johnny is reluctant to fight Doc. This is all to say that the mayor is feeling like he might have let his emotions get the better of him when he agreed to the fight. But as the mayor thinks about the movie, in particular, as the mayor thinks about Doc Holliday, it occurs to him that he\u2019s not actually fighting Doc Holliday. He\u2019s fighting the guy who owns the plastic factory, and when the mayor has this realization, he follows it to its logical conclusion: he could win the fight and put an end to this madness. He just has to draw quicker than the guy who owns the plastic factory. And in the fight, the mayor actually will draw quicker and shoot the guy who owns the plastic factory first. That won\u2019t be the end of it though. The guy who owns the plastic factory will shoot the mayor back. Then, the mayor will shoot the guy who owns the plastic factory again, who in return will shoot the mayor again, and they\u2019ll just keep shooting each other until their respective six-shooters are out of bullets. And once the shooting stops, they\u2019ll both still be alive. So, even though the mayor doesn\u2019t die, it\u2019s not going to go super great. But as the mayor sits in the locker room beforehand, the important thing is that he\u2019s going to fight the guy who owns the plastic factory, like really fight, like fight to win, and he\u2019s going to keep fighting. The mayor has been sitting on a bench and slumping against one of the lockers, but he gets up and goes over to a full-length mirror that\u2019s mounted to the wall. And as the mayor looks at himself in the mirror, he just starts practicing drawing his six-shooter.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Wayne McMahon<\/strong>\u2019s fiction has previously appeared in Allium, Maudlin House, Juked, jmww, and elsewhere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>1. About a week before the deer trouble starts, the mayor of Westerntown is sitting with his wife in a swinging loveseat on their patio, and their three kids, the two boys, who are four and six, and the girl, who\u2019s almost two, are playing. The two boys are in the sandbox that\u2019s in the middle of the yard, building sandcastles, and the girl is pushing a fire truck around on a blanket that\u2019s been spread out on the ground next to where the mayor and his wife are sitting.&nbsp; As the mayor and his wife relax and their kids&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20417,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20408","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Westerntown by Wayne McMahon | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"1. About a week before the deer trouble starts, the mayor of Westerntown is sitting with his wife in a swinging loveseat on their patio, and their three kids, the two boys, who are four and six, and the girl, who\u2019s almost two, are playing. The two boys are in the sandbox that\u2019s in the middle of the yard, building sandcastles, and the girl is pushing a fire truck around on a blanket that\u2019s been spread out on the ground next to where the mayor and his wife are sitting.&nbsp; As the mayor and his wife relax and their kids...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-14T12:21:18+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-14T12:21:19+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/xray-28.png\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/png\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-14T12:21:18+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-14T12:21:19+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":3472,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/xray-28.png\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/xray-28.png\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-14T12:21:18+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-14T12:21:19+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/xray-28.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/09\\\/xray-28.png\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon","og_description":"1. About a week before the deer trouble starts, the mayor of Westerntown is sitting with his wife in a swinging loveseat on their patio, and their three kids, the two boys, who are four and six, and the girl, who\u2019s almost two, are playing. The two boys are in the sandbox that\u2019s in the middle of the yard, building sandcastles, and the girl is pushing a fire truck around on a blanket that\u2019s been spread out on the ground next to where the mayor and his wife are sitting.&nbsp; As the mayor and his wife relax and their kids...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-14T12:21:18+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-14T12:21:19+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/xray-28.png","type":"image\/png"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon","datePublished":"2026-09-14T12:21:18+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-14T12:21:19+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":3472,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/xray-28.png","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/","name":"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/xray-28.png","datePublished":"2026-09-14T12:21:18+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-14T12:21:19+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/xray-28.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/09\/xray-28.png","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/westerntown-by-wayne-mcmahon\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Westerntown by Wayne McMahon"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20408","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20408"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20408\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20431,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20408\/revisions\/20431"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20417"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20408"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20408"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20408"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20408"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20391,"date":"2026-09-04T05:10:40","date_gmt":"2026-09-04T12:10:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20391"},"modified":"2026-09-04T05:10:41","modified_gmt":"2026-09-04T12:10:41","slug":"slots-by-brittany-menjivar","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Slots by Brittany Menjivar"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHow\u2019s your night going?\u201d the man asked.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary looked into his eyes\u2014his deep brown eyes, beautiful by all objective standards\u2014and knew they were the eyes of a liar. He didn\u2019t mean \u201cHaving a good night?\u201d or even \u201cHaving a horrible night?\u201d; he meant, \u201cAre you willing to tolerate my attention, and thus sustain my sexual fantasies about you, for the duration of this elevator ride?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cAmazing,\u201d Mary answered. She wasn\u2019t leading him on; she was setting him up.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He grinned, falling into her trap. \u201cOh? You on a winning streak?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo, but my boyfriend is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There it was, as if on cue: the shift of his eyebrows, twitch of his lips, barely perceptible.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She went on. She had to. She\u2019d played this game a million times, knew all the rules. \u201cHe\u2019s a poker player. Competing in the tournament right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI guess he\u2019s good, then.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cOh, real good.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The elevator doors opened. A woman hauling seven bags sans bellhop appeared. \u201cI\u2019ll take the next one,\u201d she said. She was middle-aged, plain-faced, so there was no protest; they descended without her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIt must be nice,\u201d the man went on. \u201cTraveling the globe with him. Spending all his money. Not having anything to worry about, \u2019cause you don\u2019t have a fucking life of your own.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She didn\u2019t have a comeback, so she said, \u201cYes, it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary hadn\u2019t been bluffing. As the man scurried off in the direction of the resort\u2019s dayclub\u2014titled VEXX, for some reason\u2014she strode toward the ballroom, where the World Series of Poker was underway.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Her boyfriend was Nathan Ness. His thousand-yard stare struck fear into the hearts of rookies and pros alike. When they\u2019d matched on Raya about a year ago, his name had meant nothing to her. Once she finally thought to type it into Google, the Earth shifted on its axis. Nathan was not merely rich or famous, but <em>lucky<\/em>\u2014and Mary knew that luck, even more so than wealth or institutional regard, was on the decline. A few dates later, she was living the life she had manifested\u2014well, almost.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">It was true that Nathan brought her along on trips, but they were hardly romantic getaways. His tournament schedule kept him occupied for hours on end. Often, he\u2019d grind well past midnight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary was the angel of the ballroom, bringing him water and snacks as needed. She had the free time\u2014she was entering her sixth month of unemployment, just booted from a graphic design job. His attempts to encourage her\u2014<em>You gotta lose some to win some, babe!<\/em>\u2014were met with tactical kisses. She had no desire to return to work; <em>if she acted like a high-value woman, he would honor her as one<\/em>, said just about every influencer she admired.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When her friends traded relationship woes, she framed her dissatisfaction in a way they\u2019d understand. He stayed out for so long. What if he was<em> cheating <\/em>on her? What if he accidentally got a hard-on from a casino masseuse and started having <em>untoward thoughts<\/em>?&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">These concerns were totally fabricated. Mary knew exactly how he was spending his evenings: playing poker. It was her inability to fill her own evenings with any rewarding activities that bothered her.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The ballroom lobby was crowded with bros, nerds, and geezers. Nathan decidedly belonged to the first category, but he didn\u2019t square his shoulders like some of the other boys. One wave from Mary, and he was bounding across the room, wrapping her in a bear hug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cBig news, babe!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She smooched him. \u201cYou\u2019re up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYeah, doubled my stack. Big whoop. This is about you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">News? What new developments could possibly be occurring in her world? She had entered a sweepstakes to win a purple Corvette, but she couldn\u2019t imagine why the contest organizers would contact Nathan instead of her. Maybe they had wanted to surprise her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI met this guy Guillermo. Runs a poker blog, one of the biggest on the web. He needs a new site layout, and I told him I had just the girl for the job.\u201d His mouth turned up at the corner, the same way it did when he was on a heater. \u201cHe said, \u2018When can she start?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary\u2019s heart dropped.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have,\u201d she said, forgetting the colloquial meaning of the expression.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Nathan held her even tighter. \u201cYou\u2019re gonna kill it. I\u2019ll connect you with him ASAP.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWait, Nathan\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">His phone alarm buzzed. \u201cBreak\u2019s almost over. See you soon, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary lingered in the lobby after he was gone. Silently, spitefully, she willed him to bust out, if only so he could reemerge from the void and be reminded of the present that was her presence. Not every Raya baddie would wait for him like this. Why didn\u2019t he see her waiting for what it was\u2014a gift worth more than the whole prize pool put together?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Another woman, nearly the spitting image of Mary\u2019s favorite vlogger, strutted toward the ballroom doors in four-inch heels. Her hair glistened effortlessly; her face shone with the elegance of those who wanted for nothing. Now<em> this<\/em> was exactly who Mary wanted to be.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She thought about striking up a conversation to glean some of her secrets. There was absolutely no way this model, this <em>goddess<\/em>, had paid for anything she was wearing\u2014or anything in her entire adult life. But before she could, the woman sat down at a poker table\u2014Nathan\u2019s poker table, in fact.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary put on the Meta Glasses Nathan had given her for her birthday and identified her as one of the top players in the nation.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">An hour later, Mary was camped out in the food court with her laptop. It might as well have been a child\u2019s toy computer. She was fiddling with InDesign just to see what she remembered; the controls were no longer intuitive to her.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHey. <em>Hey<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">An old man was tapping on her table. On principle, she seldom took out her headphones for strangers, but this guy\u2019s expression seemed especially urgent. If he were having a stroke and she ignored him, she might face karmic justice\u2014so she caved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDid ya win?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Oh, so <em>that\u2019s<\/em> what was going on. She studied his face. Most of the elders who hit on her were silver fox types, eternal bachelors. This man\u2019s skin was too wrinkled, his teeth too craggy, to earn him that distinction. Maybe his wallet was the source of his arrogance. Or maybe it was the twinkle in his eyes, which <em>might<\/em> have been attractive <em>once<\/em>, she conceded. She wished he were ugly so she could write him off faster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She shook her head. \u201cI\u2019m not a gambler.\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The term was a slight dig at Nathan; poker players hated to be called gamblers, although she didn\u2019t know why.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThen what brings you here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cMy boyfriend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He huffed out a laugh. \u201cI\u2019ll get my ass out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There was something pathetic about his tone. Normally, it would have irked her. Today, it sparked pity. Lacking a boyfriend, she might have kept chatting, if only to make his day.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When he left, she imagined a phantom version of herself trailing after him. <em>He couldn\u2019t have expected me to fall for him<\/em>, she told herself. <em>He must have been punishing himself, the sad sack. If I proved him wrong, I\u2019d own his bones.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She stood up in a rush, nearly leaving her laptop behind. When she found him at a blackjack table, she said, \u201cI hope it isn\u2019t too late.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He turned his back on the dealer and took her by the arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">At first, she told herself, she was <em>just having fun<\/em>. She would see how many perks she could squeeze out of this dude\u2014if he was hanging around a casino, he was probably willing to part with a few Benjamins\u2014and skedaddle after scoring sufficiently. With every step, however, her skepticism heightened. She didn\u2019t mind the glares of frat boys and aging women; they were easy enough to chalk up to jealousy. (<em>Sorry you\u2019re broke, Brandon! Suck it, Grandma!<\/em>) Rather, the smiley-faced greetings of suit-clad supervisors and corseted cocktail waitresses got under her skin. Why were they so nonchalant? Didn\u2019t they understand something special and strange was happening right under their noses?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Somewhere along the way, he told her his name was Harry. She took the rhyme as a sign\u2014of what, she wasn\u2019t aware yet.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He ushered her into the same elevator she had taken earlier. This time, she noticed that the developers had failed to skip the 13th floor and imagined catastrophe. What would the South Florida version of 9\/11 look like? Maybe a biplane would crash into the hotel\u2019s guitar-shaped tower, a tangled WILL YOU MARRY ME banner trailing behind. The wreckage would fall into the pool below, traumatizing those tourists who survived.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Harry mumbled something. The words came out as static to her. When she asked him to repeat himself, he chuckled. As the doors parted, he called her a \u201cdaydream believer and a homecoming queen.\u201d It felt like a compliment, so she squeezed his hand, which she hadn\u2019t noticed she\u2019d been holding.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">His room was identical to Nathan\u2019s, except that the furniture was inverted. Mary sat down in the armchair and kicked her feet onto the futon without thinking. When Harry bent down to peel off her socks, knees a-popping, she knew she was in deep. His eagerness\u2014not just to touch her, but to revel in the grotesquerie of the scenario, inhaling her scent and running his rough thumb over her one ingrown toenail\u2014was absurd above all else. Sure, she felt repulsed, but only casually, as if she were watching a Discovery Channel documentary on spiders. Some sunny, faraway day, when she could tell her friends this story as an aside rather than a confession, she would describe the interaction as \u201centertaining.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He massaged her soles as he spoke. She wondered whether he had relied on this tactic for decades or simply felt emboldened by his proximity to death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI suppose you\u2019d be willing to do your new friend a favor.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This wasn\u2019t a question, but a statement. She wasn\u2019t offended; his confidence comforted her. There was no problem for her to work out; Harry had already done the thinking on her behalf. She didn\u2019t even have to speak; her serene expression was agreement enough.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He took out his phone, hit record. Again, Mary was relieved. She didn\u2019t have to grant or deny permission. All she had to do was look beautiful\u2014and she certainly did, in this ancient being\u2019s eyes. <em>I bet his wife just died, speckled and decrepit. He hasn\u2019t seen anything like me since the \u201970s. I am new and nubile and NOW. I am the jackpot he has brought home.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Through the window, a cloud moved. A ray of light shone against her skin. Goosebumps glistened. Relief became pleasure.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI want you to repeat after me,\u201d he said. She wondered why he was already filming. Maybe the awkwardness of this exchange was itself alluring to him; maybe he wanted to see her in both her raw and rehearsed forms. \u201c<em>My name is Mary. I\u2019m trapped in Harry\u2019s phone and I can\u2019t get out.<\/em>\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Time stopped. In the hallway, a bell dinged. The faint melody of a Top 40 rock song floated her way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But she was there, and her reflection was slender and sexy in the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the bed, and she was the best fucking thing he would ever have; she would prove it, she would <em>prove it<\/em>. She said those stupid sentences, using a voice she had only tried on Nathan once. \u201cStop it,\u201d he had told her, good-naturedly. \u201cIt sounds like you\u2019re about to pee yourself.\u201d Harry, though, was a fan.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThat\u2019s<em> perfect<\/em>,\u201d he said, as if he had been measuring her performance against some private rubric the whole time.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The production of this video, it turned out, was not foreplay but the main event. Afterward, Harry excused himself to the bathroom to \u201cfreshen up.\u201d When he emerged, he was wearing the hotel\u2019s terrycloth robe. He retreated to bed with no intent other than to rest.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cJoin me when you want, honey. But before I forget\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He handed her $500.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary chose to interpret the cash as a token of generosity rather than payment. After all, he hadn\u2019t kicked her out. If anything, he might have hoped to lure her into sticking around longer. Of course, longer couldn\u2019t be very long, considering. How bad would it be to spend the next five years reciting Harry\u2019s lines? Her role, it seemed, was already written out for her. She\u2019d walk away with particularly soft feet and perhaps several million dollars. She didn\u2019t see many flashy belongings in his quarters\u2014no designer clothes or fancy watches. But she had read the magazine articles; she knew about quiet luxury. His sweater was probably spun with the finest wool. His shoes, ergonomic and logoless, likely cost five thousand dollars.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Once his eyes were shut, she slipped under the covers on the far side of the bed\u2014just as an experiment, just to see if she would rouse him. He kept snoring.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">As he slept, moonbeams smoothed out his features. Void of intent or sentiment, he didn\u2019t seem difficult to like\u2014maybe even love.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She recalled the roleplay he had solicited. The emotion it stirred in her now was something akin to affection. <em>It must be nice<\/em>, she thought, <em>to harbor such a specific desire.&nbsp;<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She actually slept, too, head pressed against her elbow at a weird angle. When she woke up and saw Harry\u2019s face, her heart pounded. For just a second, she thought Nathan had fallen under some evil curse, causing him to age forty years in a night\u2014or perhaps she had been stuck in a coma for the better part of a century, tended to by hospice nurses while her Hall-of-Famer looked over her near-lifeless, near-loveless body.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She inhaled, exhaled. Harry did the same next to her, wheezing a bit. His iPhone, resting on the bedside table, caught the light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She had never been one to breach her partners\u2019 privacy, but the memory of the video ate at her. She could send it to herself or she could delete it. She didn\u2019t quite know what her plan was, just that she needed to have one.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He didn\u2019t have a passcode. It was almost like the universe wanted her to snoop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She opened his camera roll and saw dozens of videos of hot girls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She<em> had <\/em>to be misinterpreting the visions before her. Surely they were AI-generated, or maybe a closer look would expose them as decaying hags\u2014but not so. When she tapped on each square, a similarly young, similarly gorgeous woman stared back at her. So many beauties, all of them trapped in Harry\u2019s phone. The second-to-last video was time-stamped with yesterday\u2019s date.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He stirred in his sleep. <em>If he wakes up now, I might kill him<\/em>, she thought. Then her stomach lurched. It wasn\u2019t the thought of putting her hands on him that paralyzed her so much as the expanse of dread and doom that would follow such an act. Could she handle life as a murderer\u2014even if she got away with the crime?&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She pulled on her socks and departed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She couldn\u2019t go back to Nathan\u2014not yet, at least\u2014so she wandered the casino floor. Tobacco smoke swirled around her, clinging to her hair, her wrinkled dress. She had always resisted its attempts at seduction, but what did she have to lose now?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She asked a portly dad type for a cigarette. He shook his head. \u201cI just quit, honey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There was that word again, sticky enough to coat her throat. She walked away before she could say \u201cFuck you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She considered killing time at one of the resort\u2019s many 24-hour bars\u2014could she get away with charging a drink to Harry\u2019s room? <em>To Nathan\u2019s?<\/em>\u2014but alcohol would only depress her more. She could go to VEXX\u2014but what if she ran into her old foe, or a similarly sinister clone?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The sound of cheers, distinctly feminine cheers, stirred her from her daze.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">She turned in the direction of the din. A gaggle of blondes was gathered around a slot machine, jumping and giggling. She recognized the tallest, most striking of the bunch as one of Harry\u2019s concubines.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat\u2019s going on, girls?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">They pulled her into their circle without hesitation. Their beauty spoke a different language than hers, all highlight and fillers and plump, glossy pouts\u2014and still, they saw her as one of their own. Any jealousy or bitterness dissolved; at last, she was in the right place.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cKatie won $20,000,\u201d one of the women panted.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mary addressed them collectively; they all looked so happy, she couldn\u2019t even tell who Katie was. \u201cWhat are you going to do now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWe\u2019ve got to keep playing,\u201d the girl from Harry\u2019s phone said. \u201cWe\u2019re all winning tonight!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The <em>we<\/em>, as she understood it, extended to her. And thus she was indoctrinated into their cult. A waitress brought them cocktails. They clinked their cups together and drank in unison. Then they took turns at the machine. The ritual required participation from all of them. As one girl pulled the lever, the rest would \u201cooh\u201d and \u201cahh,\u201d watching the pictures flicker past. Their affirmation, they believed, would be enough to tilt the odds in their favor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When Mary was ushered forward, she fed the machine all her crisp new bills. When she lost money, she didn\u2019t sigh; the next spin, or the next, or the next, would be her salvation. If she lost the $500, she\u2019d dig around in her purse. The flashing lights were the color of the future\u2014her future. She could see no alternate reality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Brittany Menjivar<\/strong> was born in the DMV; she now works and plays in the City of Angels. Her poetry and prose collection PARASOCIALITE has been praised by the likes of NYLON, OFFICE, and the LA REVIEW OF BOOKS. As a screenwriter, she is represented by Untitled Entertainment; she has multiple features in pre-production, including an adaptation of Alex Kazemi\u2019s novel NEW MILLENNIUM BOYZ. Follow her on Insta @BrittMenjivar if you know what&#8217;s good for you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>\u201cHow\u2019s your night going?\u201d the man asked.&nbsp; Mary looked into his eyes\u2014his deep brown eyes, beautiful by all objective standards\u2014and knew they were the eyes of a liar. He didn\u2019t mean \u201cHaving a good night?\u201d or even \u201cHaving a horrible night?\u201d; he meant, \u201cAre you willing to tolerate my attention, and thus sustain my sexual fantasies about you, for the duration of this elevator ride?\u201d \u201cAmazing,\u201d Mary answered. She wasn\u2019t leading him on; she was setting him up.&nbsp; He grinned, falling into her trap. \u201cOh? You on a winning streak?\u201d \u201cNo, but my boyfriend is.\u201d There it was, as if&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20405,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20391","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Slots by Brittany Menjivar | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Slots by Brittany Menjivar\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"\u201cHow\u2019s your night going?\u201d the man asked.&nbsp; Mary looked into his eyes\u2014his deep brown eyes, beautiful by all objective standards\u2014and knew they were the eyes of a liar. He didn\u2019t mean \u201cHaving a good night?\u201d or even \u201cHaving a horrible night?\u201d; he meant, \u201cAre you willing to tolerate my attention, and thus sustain my sexual fantasies about you, for the duration of this elevator ride?\u201d \u201cAmazing,\u201d Mary answered. She wasn\u2019t leading him on; she was setting him up.&nbsp; He grinned, falling into her trap. \u201cOh? You on a winning streak?\u201d \u201cNo, but my boyfriend is.\u201d There it was, as if...\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-04T12:10:40+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-04T12:10:41+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/slots-post.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"1949\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1166\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"Slots by Brittany Menjivar\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-04T12:10:40+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-04T12:10:41+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":3153,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/08\\\/slots-post.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"Slots by Brittany Menjivar | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/08\\\/slots-post.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-04T12:10:40+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-04T12:10:41+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/08\\\/slots-post.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2020\\\/08\\\/slots-post.webp\",\"width\":1949,\"height\":1166},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Slots by Brittany Menjivar\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Slots by Brittany Menjivar | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Slots by Brittany Menjivar","og_description":"\u201cHow\u2019s your night going?\u201d the man asked.&nbsp; Mary looked into his eyes\u2014his deep brown eyes, beautiful by all objective standards\u2014and knew they were the eyes of a liar. He didn\u2019t mean \u201cHaving a good night?\u201d or even \u201cHaving a horrible night?\u201d; he meant, \u201cAre you willing to tolerate my attention, and thus sustain my sexual fantasies about you, for the duration of this elevator ride?\u201d \u201cAmazing,\u201d Mary answered. She wasn\u2019t leading him on; she was setting him up.&nbsp; He grinned, falling into her trap. \u201cOh? You on a winning streak?\u201d \u201cNo, but my boyfriend is.\u201d There it was, as if...","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-04T12:10:40+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-04T12:10:41+00:00","og_image":[{"width":1949,"height":1166,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/slots-post.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"Slots by Brittany Menjivar","datePublished":"2026-09-04T12:10:40+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-04T12:10:41+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":3153,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/slots-post.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/","name":"Slots by Brittany Menjivar | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/slots-post.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-04T12:10:40+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-04T12:10:41+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/slots-post.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/08\/slots-post.webp","width":1949,"height":1166},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/slots-by-brittany-menjivar\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Slots by Brittany Menjivar"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20391","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20391"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20391\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20404,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20391\/revisions\/20404"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20405"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20391"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20391"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20391"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20391"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}},{"id":20383,"date":"2026-09-03T05:08:08","date_gmt":"2026-09-03T12:08:08","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?p=20383"},"modified":"2026-09-03T05:08:09","modified_gmt":"2026-09-03T12:08:09","slug":"torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/","title":{"rendered":"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"996\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials1-996x1024.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20384\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials1-996x1024.png 996w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials1-292x300.png 292w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials1-768x790.png 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials1-1494x1536.png 1494w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials1-1991x2048.png 1991w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials1-869x894.png 869w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 996px) 100vw, 996px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"996\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials2-996x1024.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20386\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials2-996x1024.png 996w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials2-292x300.png 292w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials2-768x790.png 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials2-1494x1536.png 1494w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials2-1991x2048.png 1991w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials2-869x894.png 869w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 996px) 100vw, 996px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"996\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials3-996x1024.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20387\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials3-996x1024.png 996w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials3-292x300.png 292w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials3-768x790.png 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials3-1494x1536.png 1494w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials3-1991x2048.png 1991w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials3-869x894.png 869w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 996px) 100vw, 996px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image size-large\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"996\" height=\"1024\" src=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials4-996x1024.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-20388\" srcset=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials4-996x1024.png 996w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials4-292x300.png 292w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials4-768x790.png 768w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials4-1494x1536.png 1494w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials4-1991x2048.png 1991w, https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/MSBTorturousTrials4-869x894.png 869w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 996px) 100vw, 996px\" \/><\/figure>\n\n\n\n<div style=\"height:100px\" aria-hidden=\"true\" class=\"wp-block-spacer\"><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><strong>Michael Seymour Blake<\/strong>\u00a0is just some person with a nice butt in Queens, NY.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Michael Seymour Blake\u00a0is just some person with a nice butt in Queens, NY.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":208,"featured_media":20390,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"contributor":[],"class_list":["post-20383","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v28.5 (Yoast SEO v28.5) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake | X-R-A-Y<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Michael Seymour Blake\u00a0is just some person with a nice butt in Queens, NY.\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"X-R-A-Y\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:publisher\" content=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2026-09-03T12:08:08+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2026-09-03T12:08:09+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/blake-post.webp\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"2048\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"1070\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/webp\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Chris Dankland\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@xraylitmag\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\"},\"headline\":\"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-03T12:08:08+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-03T12:08:09+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":20,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/blake-post.webp\",\"articleSection\":[\"Fiction\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/\",\"name\":\"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake | X-R-A-Y\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/blake-post.webp\",\"datePublished\":\"2026-09-03T12:08:08+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2026-09-03T12:08:09+00:00\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/blake-post.webp\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2026\\\/08\\\/blake-post.webp\",\"width\":2048,\"height\":1070},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\\\/fiction\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y\",\"description\":\"\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Organization\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#organization\",\"name\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/\",\"logo\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2018\\\/01\\\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg\",\"width\":800,\"height\":800,\"caption\":\"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/logo\\\/image\\\/\"},\"sameAs\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/x.com\\\/xraylitmag\",\"https:\\\/\\\/www.instagram.com\\\/xraylitmag\\\/\"]},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7\",\"name\":\"Chris Dankland\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/xraylitmag.com\\\/author\\\/mister-fantastic\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake | X-R-A-Y","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake","og_description":"Michael Seymour Blake\u00a0is just some person with a nice butt in Queens, NY.","og_url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/","og_site_name":"X-R-A-Y","article_publisher":"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","article_published_time":"2026-09-03T12:08:08+00:00","article_modified_time":"2026-09-03T12:08:09+00:00","og_image":[{"width":2048,"height":1070,"url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/blake-post.webp","type":"image\/webp"}],"author":"Chris Dankland","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_creator":"@xraylitmag","twitter_site":"@xraylitmag","schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/"},"author":{"name":"Chris Dankland","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7"},"headline":"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake","datePublished":"2026-09-03T12:08:08+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-03T12:08:09+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/"},"wordCount":20,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/blake-post.webp","articleSection":["Fiction"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/","name":"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake | X-R-A-Y","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/blake-post.webp","datePublished":"2026-09-03T12:08:08+00:00","dateModified":"2026-09-03T12:08:09+00:00","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/blake-post.webp","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/08\/blake-post.webp","width":2048,"height":1070},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/torturous-trials-by-michael-seymour-blake\/fiction\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Torturous Trials by Michael Seymour Blake"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#website","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","name":"X-R-A-Y","description":"","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"Organization","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#organization","name":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/","logo":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/01\/x-ray-logo-fb-1.jpg","width":800,"height":800,"caption":"X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/logo\/image\/"},"sameAs":["https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/x.com\/xraylitmag","https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/xraylitmag\/"]},{"@type":"Person","@id":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/#\/schema\/person\/c2359b0c81aaba4030aa9af9d996d0e7","name":"Chris Dankland","url":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/author\/mister-fantastic\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20383","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/208"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20383"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20383\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20389,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20383\/revisions\/20389"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20390"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20383"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20383"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20383"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xraylitmag.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=20383"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}]