Taylor Putorti A Fiction Writing Portfolio.
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Hi there. My name is Taylor. I will be graduating with honors from Columbia College Chicago, summa cum laude. I’m a regular contributor to Hair Trigger Magazine and I have a column that reviews television shows on a popular geek culture website. I’m both an editor, and a website-designer, for an awardwinning literature anthology. I’ve worked as a Fiction tutor for three years. I’m fluent in American Sign Language. My current project, besides the various novels and short stories, is a linguistic research paper. I’m studying how the Internet has changed the way we communicate, and inflect emotion through text-based exchanges.
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Contents Transition
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Brawl Night
8
How You Fell in Love With Satan
15
Gamer Trash
24
Refracted Light
27
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Transition A flash piece about what happens when ‘you’ die.
WHEN you die, you will open your eyes with your bare feet resting on ground they’ve never touched before. You will feel the grass between your toes, softer than strips of terry cloth. At first, there is nothing but thick grey fog. But then, a ray of light, not sunlight but perhaps the gleam of some distant, foreign moon, shines down and you will start to see. You are standing on a path lined with flowers and smooth, white rocks that remind you of opals or polished skulls. The petals of each flower seem to be an impossible shade between pink and violet, and every time you look away, they change just enough so that you can’t pin them down. Behind you is a stone wall that stretches farther up than can be measured. There is no cement between the pale, yellow boulders. They fit together in a precise, calculated manner, the way you’ve always imagined the pyramids might look. You reach out to touch them. It’s like pressing your palm against sand. The stone moves, enveloping your fingers in its earthy warmth. You get the feeling you could push your entire body into the wall and stay there forever, become a part of its constant, noble structure. You know without asking that this is the wall between the life you left behind and what lies beyond. Though you could stay here, you cannot go back. So you turn away and begin to walk down the grassy path. You are wearing a dress from your childhood. It’s white cotton that flows to your knees, with a pink ribbon around the waist. It’s the dress you wore to your aunt Matilda’s wedding. But even as the memory of her face tries to surface, you feel it slip away into the fog. Your hair is long again. The blonde curls rest halfway down your back. The further you walk down the path, the more you forget. The first memories to go are of distant relatives and acquaintances. You forget your grandfather’s lopsided smile. It slips away on an exhalation of mist. Next to go are the birthdays of your various coworkers, nights spent at bars with strangers, and your
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5! second kiss, which happened by a lake in Rhode Island, when you were just fifteen. It was around then that you began to suspect you didn’t like kissing boys at all. Far ahead, you can see a shape attempting to form—a building, or a forest, or perhaps another wall. You can’t tell from this distance, but you keep walking, because there doesn’t seem to be a better choice. When the memory of your first pet—Jubee, the black Labrador—surfaces, there’s a twinge of discomfort in your chest. You realize you will never see Jubee again, not even in your mind’s eye, and it sends a lurch of melancholy through you. But you take another step. You breathe the memory out. Suddenly you’re sad and you don’t know why. Your house is next. The house you bought with Eloise. The garden the two of you planted. The swing set she built for your little girl with her own calloused hands. It’s like you’re standing at the gate, looking at the powder blue front door, and the bay window that lets you glimpse the living room. The stucco walls and red-shingled roof have never been as beautiful as they are in this moment. The stretch of grass in the front yard is where little Lucy took her first steps. The worn leather couch, on the far left side of the living room, is where you first sat Eloise down to tell her about The Tumor, Your Tumor, Your Inoperable Brain Tumor. With a breath, it’s all gone. There’s a sharp throb of pain in your lungs, and you stop walking for a moment. You feel as if you’ve lost something irreplaceable, but you don’t know what. The flowers oscillate from red to green. The mists ahead grow a little thinner. You take another step, because it seems like the thing to do. You start to forget all the places you’ve ever been. They leave you with varying degrees of discomfort at the moment of separation. You forget the Chicago skyline, the coffee shop on Wabash that Eloise used to work at, your mother’s house with the pink curtains and hardwood floors, the RV your father used to drive, your childhood bedroom, your bed covered in stuffed animals, and the hospital room that smelled like bleach where Eloise would stroke your hair as monitors beeped and hours slipped by. You forget both of your parents at the same time. Their faces surface, smiling, wrinkled around the eyes, still full of life. Your mother’s frizzy red hair seems close enough to touch. You smell your father’s spicy cologne, and you start to cry. You don’t want to lose them. Not again. But they disappear all the same. It feels like you’ve been stabbed in the gut. You scream. The pain slips away with the memory. !
6! Your hands are smooth and soft, they way they haven’t been since you were much younger. You keep walking. Then you see Eloise, as if she’s standing in front of you, with her caramel skin and eyes as vast as space. Her hair is black again, not the wiry grey you’re used to. She’s young. Like she’s still in college. She’s wearing that red, polka-dotted skirt she had on the first day you met her. She holds her arms out and your run to her embrace. She pulls you close against her pillowy chest and you fall for her all over again. “Don’t leave,” you whisper. “Darling heart, you’re the one that’s going away.” Her voice is warm and raspy as the whiskey she used to drink. It’s comforting and distressing in a strange duality. “I love you. I always will.” She smiles. You repeat that you love her too, over and over, hoping it will change something. But then she dissolves into the fog. Your heart feels as if it has been ripped from your chest. You crumple to the ground and sob. A minute later, you don’t know why your cheeks are wet. You stand up, and you’re shorter. It’s a sense you get, that your face is rounder with baby fat. Instead of walking, you skip in zigzags down the path towards the great unknown. Ahead of you, the scene starts to slip into focus. There is a small house, with one brown door and two windows. The walls are wooden, whitewashed. The roof comes to a perfect triangle with a small brick chimney towards the back. On either side of the house stand tall, thick trees with purple trunks and black leaves. The last thing you forget is Lucy. She starts to skip along the path with you, holding your chubby hand in hers. You’re both only five years old, with your curls up in ponytails and songs on your lips. Her wide brown eyes are full of laughter. “Don’t be nervous,” she says. “We’re almost there.” The two of you approach the door. She slips away right before you reach it, but it doesn’t hurt. If anything, you feel relieved. Your mind is empty for the first time since you were born. It’s an incredible sort of peace. The door opens. A woman is standing there, draped in a piece of cloth that matches the trees. Her skin is so pale, there’s almost a blue tint to it. But she smiles. You smile back at her. “Come in child. We’ve been expecting you,” she says in a tongue you’ve never heard before, but recognize just the same. Just behind her, you see other people moving !
7! within the house, murmuring to each other. They all look familiar, but you can’t place them. You step over the threshold. The woman closes the door behind you. The air is warm, humid and comforting. You don’t mind the total darkness. This is where you’re supposed to be.
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Brawl Night An excerpt from a short story published in Hair Trigger 37.
WHEN we got to Skanky’s house, there were already a lot of people there. You could hear Hot for Teacher blasting from a shitty stereo inside, which meant everyone was real drunk. I always liked walking in with Matt. It made me feel important. Even if we were burnout losers when we meandered down the narrow streets of Little Shy, when Matt walked through the door of Skanky's house, he became like a Gladiator. The returning champion. Because everyone knew what a badass he was, and that he would win any fight he got involved with that night. And I’d walk in next to him, proud almost. I was scrappy, sure. I could hold my own. But I think part of the reason I never got beat up too bad was because everyone knew Matt would be coming for them the next Brawl Night. The front hallway stretched long, and pretty empty. Most of the warm bodies were congregated in the kitchen. Skanky, twitchy, skinny, permanently covered with a rotating splatter of scrapes and bruises, stood by the oven, slicing up a pizza. Every week somebody different would bring over like ten frozen pizzas. First come, first serve. The food always disappeared as fast as it was ready. A few thirty racks of PBR sat under the table. Most of them already opened. The boom box perched over the kitchen sink, singing away. Everybody else milled around, drinking, stuffing their faces, and trying to shake off the pre-fight jitters. Mostly guys our age, in ripped up clothes, with bruised-out dark circles under their eyes. You know, the kind of almost-trash you’d find hanging out in a dive bar on a weeknight if any of us had been old enough to drink. We were all at that awkward phase between nineteen and twenty where nothing important is going on. Caught in an endless limbo of shit jobs and disintegrating dreams. The few girls that showed up stood out like tiny pricks of starlight in the dark, but you could tell they only came because of a boyfriend, and that they’d much rather be anywhere else. None of them looked twice at me. Girls usually didn’t. I’ve spent my
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9! entire life being short, with a nose that’s too big for my face. When girls got real drunk, sometimes they paid attention to me as a last resort. But that was it. "Matt the Man, what's up?" Skanky drawled and held out a fist for Matt to pound. Nobody besides Skanky really did that. But Matt always humored him. "Not too much. Just ready to start working up a buzz.” "That's what I like to hear! And Walter, sup?" Skanky nodded. I returned the nod without any words. Skanky never liked me that much. I wasn’t sure why. But I think that he and Matt used to be real good friends. Then when Matt and me started hanging out more, they drifted apart. Or maybe he didn’t like anybody, and I just took it personally. I grabbed a slice and a beer. Matt skipped the food, and pulled out a flask. The kitchen felt small, and the walls were sticky from so many people being inside it. Before long, we wandered into the living room, to check out the scene, and that’s when I heard it. “Walter! Oh my god, it’s been forever.” I turned my head and saw Tracy sitting on the couch. She’d lost a little weight and her hair was bright-red-like-a-fire-truck instead of the brown it had been before. My whole body went stiff. “Hi Tracy,” I said in a careful voice. My eyes flicked over to Matt. He had an indecipherable expression plastered across his face. It was a smile, but he didn’t look happy. Tracy stood up and wrapped her arms around me, initiating the most awkward physical contact imaginable. I just kind of stood there. She must have been real drunk, because she didn’t seem to care that I didn’t hug her back. When she let go, she looked up with glassy eyes. “What are you doing here? Do you come to Brawl Night a lot? My brother’s the one that told me about it. He said I should come watch.” “Every now and then,” I said because it seemed rude to just straight up not reply. “This is so crazy. I’ve been meaning to come by the pizza parlor, but I’ve been so busy lately. Filling out college applications and stuff.” “Uh huh.” I hadn’t known she was still in high school. Somehow, that only increased the odd burning feeling in my stomach. !
10! I’d never filled out a college application. Never even touched one. I’d filled out lots of Job applications. Had plenty of jobs on and off since I was sixteen. But I’d never harbored any delusions about going off to some other state to waste four years and thousands of dollars on a degree I wouldn’t use for anything. I couldn't afford to. Plain and simple. Matt shifted next to me. Maybe edging a little bit closer. Maybe trying to catch my eye so we could start walking away. “I should totally get your number. We need to hang out again sometime!” Tracy hiccupped. “Um… sure.” I felt my face getting hot. She pressed her iPhone into my hand. It had a pink plastic case, with flowers on it. I typed my number out and handed it back to her, figuring my phone would be ‘dead’ if she ever called me. “I’m going to go smoke a cigarette.” Matt wrapped his fingers around my bicep, and he pulled me towards the back door. “It was uh, nice running into you.” I looked over my shoulder at Tracy. She was smiling a little too wide. “You too! I’ll call you.” And we were already halfway down the hall. The fresh air was a shock against my skin. But I soon adjusted. We sat down on the rickety wooden bench that leaned up against the house and just looked out into the yard. It was a famous little shithole, after all. There wasn't much grass left at that point of things. Just a lot of dirt, and cigarette butts, and empty beer cans. What mattered was the ring. It sat out in the middle of the yard. A junky construction, symbolic mostly. It was made out of chicken wire with a cardboard floor that got changed out every once in a while to avoid too much sogginess. The ring itself was only about four feet high. It was a placeholder, with a rickety wooden gate. But everybody respected it, just like they feared it. It was our little patch of ground where we rebelled against the suffocating quiet. Where we went to sacrifice our bodies just to feel something. Of course, we got the idea from Fight Club. Like so many other restless kids, itching for a reason to become violent, missing the point. But it caught on quick. And soon we were having Brawl Nights twice a month. Then sometimes every week. And I liked it a lot. And Matt liked it a lot. Because !
11! sometimes, if he hadn't gotten in the ring all night, people would pay him to fight. Just because they liked to cheer as he dismantled somebody. “So, you gonna hit that again?” Matt asked, in between two impressive shots from the flask. “No, dude. You just heard her. She’s still in high school.” “What’s it matter? She’s into you, bro. Go for it.” He nudged me in the ribs, and he had a stupid grin stretched across his face. But it stung where his elbow dug into me. It reminded me of the only time I’d taken a girl out on a date. How afterwards I’d gone over to Matt’s house and he’d asked a lot of questions. He’d worn that same too-happy expression and somehow it felt like the Spanish Inquisition. “She’s too young. Give me a cigarette,” I snorted. “You don’t even smoke. And she’s only what, two years younger than you?” “She’s… I dunno, man. She’s weird.” “She’s got a tight little pussy though. Come on. You should do it.” “Why do you want me to fuck her so badly? It’s not like you’re gonna be there.” It just kind of came out. I didn’t mean it. Didn’t even think about it till after I said it. But I felt him tense up next to me. He passed me a cigarette and the silence dragged out for a few minutes. Other people started coming outside, drinking and laughing, and pretending like they weren’t a little bit scared to bleed. “Who are you gonna fight tonight?" Matt asked as he exhaled a large cloud. "I dunno. I was thinking about just watching. My knuckles are still kinda sore from last time, man." "That's the point." He slid a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it. Burning a stray thread on the cuff of his hoodie, putting the flame out with two licked fingers when it started to singe the cloth. "Well, shit. If someone asks me, I'll go in." "You should fight me." "What?" I almost dropped my beer. In the several months we'd been doing Brawl Night, Matt and I had never fought. In fact, I'd never even taken a swing at him before that. I just knew better. "Come on, you scared?" "No, I'm not fucking scared," I spat. "Just... I’m tired is all." “I’m not gonna make you,” he shrugged. “But I bet I’d win.” “Fuck off.” !
12! “No. It’s totally cool, man. You’re afraid of looking like a puss in front of so many people. I get it.” And there it was. Drunken pride—and let me tell you—drunken pride will push every damn button it can to get you to do stupid things. "I'll beat your ass in.” I knew it was a bad idea even as I said it, but at that point it was too late to backtrack. "More like I’ll break your pretty face in half,” he laughed. It was so on. Matt drained the rest of his flask in one gulp and got that far-away look on his face. He always zoned out before fights. He wouldn't talk to anybody. He'd just drink and smoke and drink and smoke, until you were sure he shouldn't be able to walk straight. Then we'd just push him in the ring and watch the magic happen. But me? Well I was a wreck. I went back inside and shot gunned a few beers. Trying to get plastered. Succeeding, and then surpassing any rational goal I’d started out with. Part of me thought, hell, I could win. But the twisted self-preservation part of my brain kicked on, and told me to get as drunk as possible so I wouldn't feel the punches. So I could fight the good fight and not deal with the consequences till morning. We didn't go first. No. Skanky jumped in with this kid, Mike Evans. I'd never seen him at Brawl Night before, but I recognized him. He worked at the bowling alley across the street from Jimmy’s Pizza. Short, and blonde, and kind of pathetic looking. Skanky knocked him to the ground about thirty seconds in. Then he sat on him, and punched him bloody, until the kid tapped out. After that, some other douche bags that I'd never met jumped in. The world started to go a little fuzzy around the edges. Like it does when you realize you’ve had too much and there’s nothing you can do about it. I just drifted in and out of lucidity. Until I was standing next to the ring. And Matt was at my shoulder and he was nudging me. "You wanna go?" I opened the latch on the gate and strolled on into the ring, weaving where I stood and said, "Yeah let's fucking do it." I don’t know if it’s what actually happened or it’s just the way I remember it. But it seemed like the party all around us went quiet. Apprehensive. Like some law of nature was about to be violated, and they weren't quite sure what to expect.
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13! Skanky leaned against the edge of the ring, with busted open knuckles, and two eyebrows raised way, way up. Nobody said anything. Usually someone would count down. But it didn’t happen. So I shrugged. And Matt Shrugged. And then we tumbled into it. I threw the first punch. Right in the stomach. I made contact, but it seemed like Matt didn't even feel it. He got me with a quick uppercut to the jaw, and I was so fucking dizzy. Flashes of white pain lightning bolted across my brain. I’d always wondered what made him so ferocious in the ring. And as his fist swung again, I knew the twisted up pain in his face wasn’t for anybody but me. Every blow felt disjointed. Disconnected. Like gunshots on a movie screen. Adrenaline throbbed through my veins. Somehow, every time Matt hit me, it didn’t hurt the right way. It caused a weird clenching sensation in my chest, and my throat constricted. When my flesh should have been peppered with explosions of pain—it just felt warm and the ache was almost pleasant. It was a flurry of limbs and bodily fluids. My mouth tasted salty. Sweat, and then iron. My nose was bleeding everywhere, staining my already grungy flannel from red to dark, rusty brown. I was throwing punches that I didn’t even care about. Sometimes missing, but a lot of the time colliding with Matt’s boney torso. I’d leave bruises. I knew it. He hit back hard, but probably not as hard as he could. He still knocked the wind out of me. And then we were on the ground. A tangled mess of gangly bodies, rolling on the cardboard, covered in each other’s blood. My nerves were ringing. Even in the cold night air, it felt like my skin was electric. His full weight was sprawled on top of me, pinning me to the ground. Even though I was squirming, trying to get out from underneath him, his hands felt gentle on me. Like he wasn’t holding me down, he was just holding me. I went slack for a second, because I wasn’t sure what we were doing anymore. The disorientation threatened to set in. But going limp is what saved me, because he relaxed his grip. And that’s when I was able to flip him over. Maybe he looked surprised when I got an arm around his neck and started to choke him out. Maybe that’s what he was waiting for. Because he tapped out long before he would have lost consciousness. I let him go. And it was over. !
14! He stood up first, then held out a hand, and pulled me to my feet. I was checked out to some parallel dimension. Because as I walked out of the ring, with Matt’s arm around my shoulder, holding me up, everyone kept telling me that I’d won. All I really understood were Matt’s droning words, quiet, and about an octave lower than usual. “Let’s go get cleaned up.” I don’t remember walking inside the house. It was like I blinked, and then I was sitting on the closed lid of a toilet while Matt sponged my face off with a wet washcloth. “Sorry about your nose… I don’t think it’s broken,” he said. “Why’d you let me win?” The words didn’t seem like they were coming out quite right, but he must have understood them, because he sat back on his heels, and started fiddling with the washcloth. Turning it over and over. Letting some of the water dribble down and soak into his jeans. “I didn’t.” “Come on man,” I muttered. He shrugged and he smiled a little bit. I could see him breathing. His chest rose and fell a lot faster than normal. His cheeks were pink. Then he dabbed the washcloth under my nose again. He leaned forward, almost as close to me as we’d been back in the ring. I could smell him. He smelled like something spicy—like cheap cologne, mingled with cigarettes and sweat. Usually I didn’t notice how he smelled. But then again, usually his face wasn’t six inches away from mine. I couldn’t help but look straight into the darkness of his pupils. I opened my mouth to say something. I have no idea what I might have wanted to articulate in that moment. It didn’t matter. Because he leaned forward and his lips pressed against mine, and his tongue slid into my mouth. He cupped the sides of my face, stroking my bruised jaw line. I didn’t push him away. Maybe I thought about it, but I stopped half way through. So my hands just ended up resting on his shoulders. My brain stopped working. All I could think about was how nobody had ever kissed me like that before. Like I mattered. Like I wasn’t a drunk, last choice. And somehow, that concept was more terrifying than anything else.
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Gamer Trash Excerpt of an experimental young adult novel about long-distance relationships, queer issues, and how people may not be what they seem. firebalz: who the fuck even listens to morrisy nemore clawsandteeth: tell me, did you ever take an actual English class? Do they still make kids these days study spelling in school? firebalz: i aint got time for punctuation in a dungeon clawsandteeth: I sent you that playlist for educational purposes, you uncultured swine. Besides, if you have enough time to complain about my musical preferences, you have enough time to add a period here or there. firebalz: just b/c u use big words it dosent make u smarter than me clawsandteeth: but one day you are going to have to concede that I’m better than you in every possible way. So we might as well start there. firebalz: ur such an asshole clawsandteeth: guilty as charged. However, I think the DPS meter speaks for itself here. See your name? Down there at the very bottom? And oh look, mine is on the top. firebalz: only b/c ur gear is stupid OP clawsandteeth: blame it on the armor if it makes you feel better. That still doesn’t make you the top-ranked player on the server. firebalz: ur only ranked b/c u dont have a life u spend all day on this stupid game clawsandteeth: do I detect a hint of sour grapes? Envy is an excellent look on you, darling. firebalz: i hate u clawsandteeth: then why do you spend seven hours a day talking to me? firebalz: is it rlly 7 hrs clawsandteeth: I mean, you get home from school at, what, four-thirty? You log on. Disappear for dinner at around six, then come back and play until midnight. So yes. Seven hours at least. firebalz: thats fucked !
16! firebalz: we’re like scary codependent clawsandteeth: speak for yourself. I have an entire guild to run. firebalz: u fucking spam emails at me if i dont log on b/c u miss me firebalz: ur so in love with me ;) clawsandteeth: don’t flatter yourself. It’s my job to yell at you since you never show up for raids on time. firebalz: well maybe if u made raid night on saturday instead of tuesday i would stop getting pulled away to eat dinner clawsandteeth: it was a guild vote. I have to at least give the impression that that we’re operating in a democracy. firebalz: ur an evil dictator u should at least b honest about it firebalz: what the fuck is this tank even doing clawsandteeth: I’m not really sure. We should be ready to bail, because if he keeps pulling like that, we’re gonna die. firebalz: ugh firebalz: y is billy never on when we need a gd tank clawsandteeth: because the world is an awful, unjust place, designed to ruin your day specifically. firebalz: shut up old man clawsandteeth: I’m twenty-nine, sweetheart. That’s not old. clawsandteeth: it’s not my fault you’re a tiny bunny rabbit. firebalz: ur so creepy dont call me that clawsandteeth: tiny or bunny rabbit? firebalz: either clawsandteeth: soon you’re going to be tell me not to use any pet names. firebalz: id love if u stopped that clawsandteeth: kitten. I’m hurt. firebalz: don’t clawsandteeth: you’ve wounded me deeply. firebalz: u sound like such a bitchy queen when u talk like that clawsandteeth: I mean… I am pretty fabulous. firebalz: i cant even tell when ur being sarcastic or serious firebalz: everything u say is ridiculous
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17! clawsandteeth: most of the time it’s a mixture both, to be honest. [tANKUSmaxiums has died] clawsandteeth: ‌ and the tank is down. Run. [radheals has died] firebalz: fuckkkkk i got an ogre chasing me clawsandteeth: just keep running. firebalz: im almost dead clawsandteeth: do I have to do everything for you? [sadsax has died] firebalz: ye s firebalz: thanks buddy clawsandteeth: well. Now that everyone else has wiped, should we just bail? firebalz: prolly [clawsandteeth has left the dungeon group] [firebalz has left the dungeon group] clawsandteeth: shall we re-queue? firebalz: idk man i got school in the morng clawsandteeth: come on. It's only ten thirty. clawsandteeth: let's go do a couple war games. firebalz: if i stay on i need 2 go gather lumber im fuckin broke n the new patch goes up next week clawsandteeth: boo. firebalz: we cant all be gold barons liek u clawsandteeth: I mean, if you're that worried about it, I can just buy you the gear upgrade. firebalz: r u saying u wanna b my sugar daddy clawsandteeth: I'm saying I can't have you running around in tier nine gear, getting ganked and tarnishing our guild's reputation. firebalz: teh only thing 'onehitkillaz' has a reputation fr is corpse camping ppl and that 98% ur fault clawsandteeth: hey, I've worked hard on our image as ruthless psychopaths. Has anyone ever fucked with you while you were wearing our tabard? firebalz: well no
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18! firebalz: but i think thts more b/c ur always with me and ppl r afraid of u clawsandteeth: as the saying goes, ‘it’s better to be feared than loved’. firebalz: ur such a psycho firebalz: what even is wrong with u clawsandteeth: many, many things, dear boy. Don’t worry. I have every confidence that you can grow up to be just as calloused and narcissistic as I am if you work hard and put your mind to it. firebalz: ok coach firebalz: thx for the pep talk firebalz: im going to bed clawsandteeth: good night, sweet prince. firebalz: stahp *** firebalz: well that could have gone better clawsandteeth: yeah. Not the guild’s proudest moment. firebalz: i can’t believe we wiped on crystal palace firebalz: it’s a fucking entry-level raid clawsandteeth: well, that’s what happens when we try to do a guild run on the weekend. The only people who sign up are casuals. firebalz: why do you even let casuals into the guild clawsandteeth: are you stoned? firebalz: what clawsandteeth: you get better at typing when you’re high. It’s the strangest thing. Is it because you’re paranoid and trying harder to sound coherent? firebalz: lay off. my parents are gone until late. what am i supposed to do? /not/ smoke weed? clawsandteeth: god. I mean, I know you live with your parents. But it’s still weird to think about. firebalz: i’m seventeen i’m not legally allowed to move out or i would firebalz: i fucking hate my parents clawsandteeth: such standard teenage rebellion. Can you at least try to be original? firebalz: suck my dick !
19! clawsandteeth: pretty sure that would get me arrested. But it might be worth it if you return the favor. firebalz: its a figure of speech not an actual suggestion you asshole firebalz: youre such a peado clawsandteeth: excuse you, I am a perfect gentleman. I would never dream of making inappropriate sexual advances on somebody that was underage. firebalz: you want this sweet jailbait ass so badddd clawsandteeth: yes. I touch myself thinking about a hyperactive elf that keyboard turns and can’t break 12% DPS. It’s my secret fetish. You’ve found me out. How will I ever live it down? firebalz: careful there you might overdose on sarcasms firebalz: and you don’t get to make fun of me when you rolled a fucking werewolf clawsandteeth: it’s cooler than an elf. firebalz: is not firebalz: youre a boring human unless you shift and then youve got a big bushy tail and teeth that are too big for your face clawsandteeth: my fangs are intimidating. I strike fear into the hearts of my enemies. firebalz: if i didn’t know better i’d think you were the one that was high clawsandteeth: I don’t smoke. Can’t stand the smell of it. I’ll stick with the legal poisons, thank you very much. [rangerdanger has come online] firebalz: SARAHHHH rangerdanger: jeeze. Desperate much? firebalz: why weren’t you at the raid you could have saved us rangerdanger: doubtful. Theres a reason I dont sign up for weekend events. Its a nooby shitshow. clawsandteeth: that’s the spirit. Look out for number one. The needs of the individual outweigh than the needs of the many. rangerdanger: fuck off Russ. When I do show up for guild runs all you do is complain. clawsandteeth: I do no such thing. rangerdanger: ‘ugh. The huntard drew agro again. Fucking beautiful. Sarah, why don’t you just jump into the lava and save us all some trouble?’
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20! clawsandteeth: well, perhaps if you stopped pulling mobs away from the tank you’d stop dying and I wouldn’t have to make jokes at your expense. firebalz: cmon man cut it out clawsandteeth: what? I’m just joking around. firebalz: no youre acting like a douche [pm] clawsandteeth: awwww. That’s cute. Does someone have a little crush? [pm] firebalz: dude sarah has a wife [pm] clawsandteeth: I’m not hearing a ‘no’. [pm] firebalz: how do you even suck this much [pm] firebalz: like what wrong turns do u take in life to get here rangerdanger: don’t worry, Andy. Russ just doesnt know how to function outside of battle chat. I dont take it personally. rangerdanger: nobody likes the gamer dyke. Im used to it. firebalz: i like u [pm] clawsandteeth: this is painful to watch. [pm] firebalz: dude shut up rangerdanger: thanks babe ;) clawsandteeth: well, since you’re here anyway, do you wanna do some war games? clawsandteeth: Billy logged off but i could probably bombard him with texts until he gets back on. [pm] firebalz: idk how u can make fun of me for flirting when ur ex is still in the guild [pm] clawsandteeth: we did not date. We were fuck buddies in college. There’s a big difference. [pm] clawsandteeth: not that I’d expect you to know that, virginal lamb that you are. [pm] firebalz: im not a virgin [pm] clawsandteeth: what do you gain from lying to me, really? rangerdanger: nah. I just wanted to check my auctions. Lori and I are going out in a little bit. firebalz: ah ok well hav fun rangerdanger: thanks! See you guys later. clawsandteeth: good riddance. rangerdanger: bite me. [rangerdanger has gone offline]
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21! firebalz: why do u gotta be such an asshole clawsandteeth: it’s a pretty major component of my personality. firebalz: no it isnt clawsandteeth: I feel like this is a thing I would have a better understanding of than you. firebalz: u just have an unreasonable hatred for sarah clawsandteeth: no. I have a very reasonable dislike of humanity in general. I make few exceptions. firebalz: so ur only nice to ppl u want to bone clawsandteeth: what’s so wrong with that? firebalz: a lot of things clawsandteeth: do you even have a dick? Sometimes you act like such a girl. firebalz: fuck u firebalz: ur awful firebalz: why do i even talk to u clawsandteeth: because you don’t have any other friends? firebalz: i have plenty of friends firebalz: just none of them play this stupid game clawsandteeth: why would you waste time with people that don’t share your interests? firebalz: bc high school is bad enough without everyone knowing im a piece of shit gamer clawsandteeth: really? You lie about what you do with your time? firebalz: uh firebalz: not so much lies as omissions of truth firebalz: i mean do u tell everybody u play the game? clawsandteeth: all of my friends play it too. firebalz: what abt like coworkers and stuff clawsandteeth: my web design clients don’t tend to ask a lot of questions about my personal life. They just kinda stare at me with those big, vacant eyes and ask ‘so what’s a browser?’ over and over again. firebalz: haha
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22! clawsandteeth: you shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are. In this day and age, such a large percentage of the population games, it’s stupid that people still associate it with the ‘basement lurker’ persona. firebalz: i mean technically i do spend a lot of time in my basement but thats where my bed is so clawsandteeth: I live on the twelfth floor in a very nice penthouse apartment. firebalz: well lahdeefuckindah clawsandteeth: what can I say? The world is full of a lot of technologically-challenged people that will pay obscene amounts of money to make all their ‘computer problems’ go away. clawsandteeth: my job involves a lot more hand holding and idiot-coddling than it does actual design work. Some days, they’re just paying me not to strangle them when they get confused about how to access their own damn gmail accounts. firebalz: i reiterate firebalz: ur the biggest asshole ive ever met clawsandteeth: it’s a good thing I’m pretty. firebalz: i dont actually know tht for a fact clawsandteeth: [x] firebalz: if i click tht is it gonna b ur dick clawsandteeth: no. firebalz: u totally ripped a pictuer of some model off some random website clawsandteeth: I did no such thing. You want my facebook? firebalz: russell slicker firebalz: r u fukin serious clawsandteeth: it’s my legal name? firebalz: this explains a lot clawsandteeth: what? firebalz: hot people get away with having shitty personalities clawsandteeth: careful. That almost sounded like a compliment. clawsandteeth: are you gonna add me so I get to see your lovely face as well? It’s only polite. firebalz: no firebalz: how do i know u wont show up at my house with an axe
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23! clawsandteeth: I promise I won’t? firebalz: ive seen to catch a predator clawsandteeth: fine. Just send me a picture. firebalz: nah clawsandteeth: why? Are you fat? firebalz: omgggg clawsandteeth: it’s okay if you are. I’ll only make fun of you a little bit. firebalz: im not fat i just dont want to send pictures of my face to strangers on the internet clawsandteeth: what about a body shot then? firebalz: ur so fuckin creepy clawsandteeth: I’m just trying to make helpful suggestions! firebalz: ugh firebalz: [x] clawsandteeth: aw. You have a cute face. clawsandteeth: even if you do look twelve. clawsandteeth: are you actually twelve? It would be better to tell me now than later. firebalz: kill yourself clawsandteeth: I’ll never tire of your razor-sharp wit. clawsandteeth: [x] firebalz: whats that clawsandteeth: my dick firebalz: its a fucking kitten clawsandteeth: so you clicked it? Interesting. firebalz: omfg firebalz: nope firebalz: ur so not turning this around to make me look like the gross one clawsandteeth: what’s gross about kittens? firebalz: i cant even deal with u firebalz: im gonna smoke another bowl b4 my parents get home clawsandteeth: goodnight, Andy. firebalz: night
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24!
How You Fell in Love With Satan Short story excerpt. A dark comedy about a fragile girl who gets to know Satan over her radio alarm clock and gradually falls in love.
SATAN has been talking to you through your radio alarm clock. Usually he tunes in over some driving rock beat, but it’s especially amusing when you hear his rumbling growl juxtaposed with bouncing, happy pop music. He’s not such a bad guy, all things concerned. He never tells you to burn the house down, or to kill your family. He doesn’t try to convince you that the government is watching you, or that the exhaust-clouds airplanes leave behind are poisonous. Most of the time, he complains about the stock market, or how corrupting souls is never a challenge these days, and sometimes he gets wistful when he talks about how he used to have wings and what it was like to fly. It seems like he’s lonely. You can relate to that. So you never have the heart to turn off the radio before he’s done speaking, even if it makes you late for work. Your manager at the little Mom and Pop Deli, Mr. Solonzo, doesn’t scold you. Ever since that day you broke down crying because you dropped a slice of cheddar cheese on the floor—they’ve been under the impression that you’re clinically depressed and on the verge of a complete mental break. When Mr. Solonzo speaks, it’s always in a gentle tone. His forehead wrinkles, his push-broom moustache flutters, and he says, “Gee gollicker, it sure would be nifty if you could get to work a little earlier next time. But ya know what? Don’t sweat it. You’re doin’ a bang-up job.” He doesn’t even dock your pay when you make a customer’s sandwich wrong three times in a row. Part of you thinks it would be better to tell him that you’re fine, and he doesn’t have to treat you like a fragile piece of chinaware. Then again, that might not be true. After all, when you were just six years old, you would lie awake at night, listening to the ghosts that crawled around in your walls as they whispered about decay and death. In middle school, you were the only girl that spent recess with the fairy that lived in the janitor’s closet. You’ve never been sure if you’re seeing things that aren’t there, or if you’re just the only one that pays attention. You figure it doesn’t matter. You learned
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25! not to discuss it with other people after your third trip to the psych ward. Pretending to be like everyone else isn’t all that difficult if you don’t leave your house too often.
“Sometimes I wish I’d stayed up in heaven,” Satan sighs. There’s a soft jazz tune, tumbling along behind his words. “I mean—yeah—everybody has to rebel against authority at some point, to become their own person. But it’s been so many hundreds of years now, I feel like I’m past the point where God and I could really make up. I’m not sure he’d even want to talk to me.” “Have you ever tried?” you ask, leaning in, directing your voice towards the radio speaker. People always accuse you of mumbling. You’re tired of explaining it’s just that you have a small mouth. Nobody listens. “Going back up to speak with God? No,” Satan snorts. “I’m pretty sure they have a ‘kill-Satan-on-sight’ policy up there. I wouldn’t make it past the pearly gates. And it’s not like he’d ever come down to hell. He hates getting his hands dirty. He even thinks he’s too good to come down to earth. He sent his kid down instead. And I’m sure you know how well that worked out.” “Yeah… it sounds like you want closure, though. I don’t know if it’s true, but it seems like God has gotten a lot more forgiving as time’s gone on. You know, like how a parent just kinda gives up after they’ve had a few kids. Do you think he might be a little more receptive to an apology now than he was when he kicked you out of heaven?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” Satan pauses. “You know, I used to be his favorite.” “Really?” “Yeah. Back when I was still called Lucifer, I was the most beautiful archangel he’d ever created. He was grooming me to help him rule heaven.” “Then why did you rebel?” “Do you have any idea what it’s like trying to get out from under God’s shadow? It’s impossible. Not to mention he watches everything you do like some big old creeper. No. Really, I’m better off on my own. I guess sometimes it’s just hard not to get nostalgic.” The music fades for a moment, then another blaring trumpet line starts off. You recognize the tune. You were in jazz band for a few semesters. You played an upright bass that was bigger than you. You couldn’t actually read music. You just made up the notes as you went along.
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26! “You’re a good listener,” Satan offers after the tune has cycled through the first A-A-B-A format. “Thanks.” You shrug. “No offense intended at all, but it seems like you don’t have many people to talk with.” “Technically, I could force every soul in hell to listen to my rambling,” Satan sounds a little smug. “But that’s not as gratifying as when somebody wants to hang out with me of their own accord… though sometimes I do wish I could see your face.” “You do?” You feel the flush start to rise in your cheeks. You’ve always thought that your jaw was too narrow. Your eyes are wide-set, and one lid always seems to blink down half a second faster than the other. For a moment, you also wonder what Satan looks like. Before, you’d pictured the typical red-horned demon that has saturated pop-culture. But now you wonder, if maybe he’s still beautiful, like an angel. It’s an interesting revelation, that you don’t much care either way. “Yeah,” Satan clears his throat. “I dunno. You’ve got a really pretty voice. It’s so quiet and unassuming. I like that.” “Well thank you. I like your voice too, Satan. Do you prefer to be called Satan, or is it something else?” “My friends call me Louie. Well, they used to. When I had them.” The two of you lapse back into silence. The solos in the song are over; it’s back to the melody. “Would you ever…” Louie hesitates, “I mean, I understand if you don’t want to, most people don’t like hell, that’s kinda the point—but would you ever, maybe, I dunno, want to come down and visit sometime? You wouldn’t have to stay for eternity or anything like that. Just, maybe we could have a cup of coffee, or a glass of wine, if you want to.” “I’d love to,” you feel yourself smile. !
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Refracted Light By Taylor Putorti
INT. ALEX’S APT. MORNING. The shower is running. The apartment is sparse. There’s a poster of ’A Clockwork Orange’ on the bedroom door. Vivaldi’s ’Concerto for Two Violins in A-minor’ is playing on a record. The closet is full of suits and dress shirts. The bathroom counter is covered with cologne, pomade, and aftershave. ALEX steps out of the shower as a female-bodied person with cropped hair and narrow features. He covers himself with a towel right away and goes to the bedroom. He pulls on a chest-binder, a shirt, and boxers. Alex goes back to the bathroom and brushes his teeth. The reflection in the mirror shows a male-bodied person with the same clothes and haircut. When Alex looks up, however, the reflection changes to show a female-bodied person. In the kitchen, Alex is eating cereal. He has his laptop open to an’OkCupid’ style website. His username is ’Just_Alex.’ There are several pictures of him that look pretty gender-ambiguous. The site lists him as a bisexual man. He clicks on his inbox. It’s filled with messages from a girl with the username ’sillylilly.’ The most recent one reads, "Excited to meet you tonight! :)’ Alex goes downstairs to get his mail. He picks up a package addressed to ’JESSICA IMAGO’ and takes it back up to his apartment. In the kitchen, he opens it. He pulls a lacy red dress out and drops it to the floor like it’s burned him. There’s a card in the package as well. It reads, ’Happy Belated Birthday, Darling! Love Mom.’ INT. OFFICE BUILDING. Alex is sitting in a cubicle, typing at a computer. The name on his cubicle is ’Alex Imago.’ JARRON walks up to the cubicle. He’s a well-dressed, Patrick Bateman type yuppie. A gold engagement ring is visible on his finger. JARRON Hey, Jessica. Did you get that presentation finished for the Wagner account? Alex turns to face Jarron. His reflection as a male-bodied person is visible in the computer monitor, but he can’t see it. ALEX (Quietly) That’s not my name.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
2. JARRON What? ALEX My name is Alex. JARRON Oh yeah. Sorry about that. Must have slipped my mind. It’s a little hard to catch up with such an abrupt change. You understand. ALEX (Mumbling) It’s not all that abrupt. I mean, It’s been Alex for a while now. JARRON Jess, how many times do I have to tell you to speak up? ALEX It’s Alex. JARRON Right. Right. Just uh--shoot me that presentation ASAP. ALEX Okay, Jarron. JARRON Thanks, sweetheart.
Jarron walks away. Alex goes back to typing, muttering under his breath. In his office (that has a big window and expensive furniture), Jarron sits down and takes his phone out to play Candy Crush. His phone background is a picture of him and Alex on a beach. Alex is in a bikini and has longer hair. They’re both smiling. They look like a couple. INT. OFFICE BUILDING. Alex is in his cubicle again. He stands up and walks into the men’s bathroom. He stares at the urinals for a moment before proceeding to a stall. As Alex is washing his hands, his reflection as a male-bodied person is visible in the mirror. Jarron walks in. He approaches the urinals, but then sees Alex out of the corner of his eye, stops and turns to face him.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
3.
JARRON Jessica, what are you doing in here? This is the men’s bathroom. Alex looks up into the mirror and sees his reflection as a male-bodied person. He gazes at it for a moment before facing Jarron. ALEX I’m a man. JARRON You can cross-dress all you want, but this is just ridiculous. ALEX So I’m not allowed to pee? JARRON Not in here. You’re going to make the other employees uncomfortable, and the last thing we need is HR up our asses about sexual harassment or something. ALEX Nobody else has said anything about it. JARRON Maybe not to your face... six months ago, you were wearing pencil-skirts and high-heels. ALEX I like the suits. JARRON You look like you’re trying really hard to be something you aren’t. ALEX This is who I’ve always been. JARRON From where I’m standing, you’ve changed a lot. ALEX And from where I’m standing, you don’t know shit about me or my life.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
4.
JARRON So I was engaged to a man? I think I would have noticed that. ALEX I knew this was the sort of reaction I’d get. JARRON That’s not fair. ALEX Neither is feeling like I woke up in the wrong body every goddamned day. And all you care about is the fact that I got a haircut. Fuck you. Jessica-ALEX My name is Alex. I know you’re screwing it up on purpose. JARRON Stop acting like it’s my fault that you went crazy. ALEX You’re the one that’s still wearing the ring a year after I broke the engagement off. Silence holds. Alex turns to leave. Jarron opens his mouth like he’s going to talk, but doesn’t say anything else. Alex exits the bathroom. STREET. AFTERNOON. Alex leaves his office building. As he’s walking down the street, his reflection as a male-bodied person is visible in the windows of buildings. He sees it. The more he looks at it, the happier he gets. There’s a spring in his step. He walks with his head held high. INT. OAK CORNER COFFEE. Alex steps through the door male-bodied person. LILLY a is sitting in the corner of waves back. After getting a the table with her.
of the coffee shop as a small girl, with a nice smile, the shop. She waves to Alex. He coffee he goes to sit down at
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED:
5.
They start talking and laughing. Lilly puts her hand in the middle of the table. Alex puts his hand on top of hers. END.