Mariah Kreutter
My Mother’s Husbands | Fiction
Mariah Kreutter
I think it was very selfish of my father to die in September. That was always my favorite month. Cruel, too, to die right at the beginning — of cool nights, golden afternoons, a blissful absence of mosquitoes. Withered leaves, shriveled flies. September always felt new, even as around me things were dying, and I think that’s why I liked it. It is September, now, as I write this. I have...
Have You Heard This One Before | Fiction
Mariah Kreutter
My ex-boyfriend had a joke that went like this. He called it a joke. It was really more like a story. Here it is: So there’s this guy who, one night, someone breaks into his bedroom and rapes him. The rapist is really quiet, really efficient. He doesn’t leave a trace: no DNA, no signs of forced entry. He’s pretty considerate, actually, uses lube. Uses a condom. Totally blindsides the...
