My dad’s dad never told him that he loved him. Never out loud. God, that’s so fucked up / I know. My brother and I are debriefing after dinner, in the hotel room that we share. Not even when he was dying? / I guess not. That image makes me so sad.

I just wanted to get better housing and instead I got a baby. Well, two babies. Two fake babies, to be precise.

Corpse Mom has discovered the best thing in life after her death. With her new evening ritual-- the 10-step Korean skincare routine, she’s entered a delightful new universe. How lovely it is to be dead, she thinks, to not have to worry about school nights, prepping lunchboxes, answering work emails, or having ‘married-for-donkey’s-years’ sex with her husband.

Red’s whole thing is that life is fleeting & so is he. He lasts as long as Big Red gum, goes down like a shot of Fireball, & if you’re not paying attention – steals all your Altoids. He just wants to know how many mints he can bite before everything starts to burn.

I wear thigh-high boots and a skirt that doesn't cover my ass. You wear huge pants and a backward hat. Our faces are all angles—all cheekbone and chin. We are smooth and poreless, just like the ocean, like the road, like the bark of the palm trees. Our world is not one of textures.

Two seven-year-old girls—one Afghan, one American—entwine fingers at the crumbling runway in Kabul, the only city in their memories. The American’s passport—a navy book embossed with a gold eagle and sunflower crown—is tucked in her father’s suit beside his foreign diplomat papers.

Dear Newborn Baby Girl #3,979,258,451:

Congratulations! You are officially registered for the Beauty Pageant of Earth!

This is an exciting time for you, as you learn how to breathe air and intake nutrients, and guess what? You’ve also already been ranked. *\(^o^)/* Only one billion girls are ranked above you, and you’re only a few minutes old!

The story of your birth is a Persaud family fable. The Persauds are storytellers and cooks, so everyone tells it differently. Mumma adds salt, Nani twists the words dry, Bua clips feathers to the letters and tries to set them free.