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Tag Archives: Yash Seyedbagheri
Mother decides to wear a smile for Halloween. She wants to go trick-or-treating because adults need some damn candy. I’m seventeen. I can’t argue. I think Mother wants some small indulgence she doesn’t have to explain. After Dad, I can’t … Continue reading
The year I’m fourteen and my sister Nancy’s seventeen, Mom splits, and we rewrite The Sound of Music. The Sound of Music lied to us and we need vengeance. When we first saw The Sound of Music a few years … Continue reading
My sister Anya and I repurpose family movies. We add cynical endings but never kill characters. One real basement massacre, with power-hungry hitmen, is too much. We reboot The Sound of Music. New script makes the Captain a divorcé. Family … Continue reading
I go to movies, seat beside me smelling of emptiness and armpits. I try to yell quotes at the screen, but it’s pointless. No exchanging nicknames and secrets about favorite sex positions. Secret fondness for royalty and fairy tales. Now … Continue reading
Dad runs off with the Episcopal priest, Father Edgar. He’s tired of pretend, he says. Mom insists on dressing like June Cleaver, replete with pearls. Out go the jeans and turtlenecks, in come the lavender dresses. She says things were … Continue reading
Sister Nancy and I are running out of corpses. A mortuary needs steady supply. Some say it’s our lack of technology. Or we’re too Victorian in ambience. We like preparing the dead for the peace. Hearing stories of heroism and … Continue reading
I build a fortress out of snow on the driveway. With each pile heaved, I strive to block neighbors. They feign friendliness. Ask about my name. I’m a byproduct of the Midwest and the Middle East, by way of Idaho. … Continue reading
Sister Nancy and I play mailbox baseball. We fell boxes, hoard people’s secrets like Fabergé eggs. People hold lives worse than our own, among ruined beer bottles, runaway mothers who can’t be found. We hate illusions. Mailboxes hold credit card … Continue reading