While my husband sleeps, I will disassemble the walls of our apartment, remove the light switch covers, misplace the screws, let them roll underneath the baseboard heaters, never to be found again. I will flirt with the idea of quitting my job...

Fruiting

leave your house for the first time in three days - shed your jacket, because it's sixty-six degrees outside (you live in a part of the world where this is bad)

IT'S SIXTY-SIX DEGREES IN FEBRUARY BINGO

Follow Ros to the party house, where colored lights churn from the windows into the night sky like a collapsing star. Let her…

Afterparty

but the cove of my desk couldn’t muffle the audible chirp of food inside its little pixel mouth when I tried to feed it during math class and I honestly don’t remember if your Tamagotchi was a boy or a girl or what it’s four-letter name was but…

Michelle, I’m Sorry I Killed Your Tamagotchi

Petra waits for her date at a bar in a town she can’t remember the name of. Tonight, she’s not a flight attendant on an overnight—she’s a bi-curious grad student whose Tinder profile will disappear after a night of tipsy kissing and pillow talk...

Two Scorpios in a Bottle

I was cutting oranges for the non-alcoholic sangria because it was your baby shower, and you wanted a citrus-themed party, and I couldn’t tell you I thought that was stupid. I was drunk.

Blood Orange

We’re supposed to meet in the funeral home parking lot because we both agreed this relationship postmortem felt too big to hash out in the same space as your mother’s open casket. When you called to tell me she’d finally succumbed…

Consumable

The crows arrived at the hospital in mid-January and congressed in an empty parking lot for approximately one month. Thousands of birds flecked the salt-thawed pavement, moving in particulate waves but never really leaving, sometimes screaming...

How I Became the God of Crows

We spent the summer after our senior year stealing from the middle class (our parents) to support our car parts habit (yours) and nourish our budding kleptomania (mine). We had our driver’s licenses. You wanted freedom. I wanted possessions.

Chelsea Bouchard

Selected work