Andy Rayner
Stories (5)
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Immaterial
A faded t-shirt, a three-course meal for moths. I have many. Run-down denim always feels cool to the touch, especially in the morning. The distressed fibers dangling from the holes of my knees give me something to play with when I feel nervous. I don’t regret hopping that fence, even if the blood stain never fully came out. Now stores sell them that way, minus the blood. The illusion of memories made and lives lived.
By Andy Rayner 3 years ago in Poets
Monster on the Train
Frankenstein’s Monster was a vegetarian. I did a google search to see if Mary Shelley was a vegetarian and what came up was that she “shared her HUSBAND’s diet of being a vegetarian”. I didn’t like the way they put that. I mean, he didn’t own the fucking diet. It could be that he was a vegetarian first and she changed her diet to accommodate her partner’s lifestyle. That’s a thing that happens, but you know damn well she was the one making sure that he ate every day.
By Andy Rayner 3 years ago in Fiction
In My Place
The many “justices” of the 21st century that birthed the infinite dissatisfaction with the everlasting now, seem to be on course, headed straight for the inevitable never. I don't know what that means, someone said it to me in a dream. Have you ever thought that “never” and “forever” are the same place and neither one exists? What are we doing? Is it just me, or do we all seem to be be falling apart? On the inside, I feel like we look like we're all being held together by decrepit duct tape, stained with perpetually coagulating blood from wounds that we never allow to scab over? It seems to be losing its adhesive but still maintains its tackiness.
By Andy Rayner 4 years ago in Humans
