Register Sunday | February 19 | 2017
Every Sin is  Gasoline Illustration by Lenkyn Ostapovich.

Every Sin is Gasoline

Fiction.

“We need to perform an exorcism,”Napoleon said. He stood on the couch in front of the fan with his arms out like he was doing a performance art piece called Phantom Crucifixion. He hadn’t eaten anything but Swedish Berries in twenty-four hours.

“And I ate semen,” he corrected me. “Last night and this morning.”

“That’s way too much information from a family member,” I told him.

He threw a candy at me, and I told him it was my turn in front of the fan.

“It’s probably just the heat,” I said. “The shelves expand and things shift around.”

He combed the blond bangs out of his eyes with his fingers.

“We’re definitely haunted. It’s definitely her.”

“Maybe you’re dehydrated,” I said.

“We’ve been drinking all day.”

“Yeah, beer.”

I went to the kitchen for water, but when I turned on the ...

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