T.M. García-Reiș
Bio
research psychologist, maker of stuff, mother of 2 cats, used to sing very angry songs.
Stories (3)
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Happy Meal
You are always safe here where you can breathe. You are always safe here where you see time pass by just looking up at the sky. You are safe here, despite not having the things you used to have. You are needed here, and they do not need you. They rejected you. Years and years of breaking your back, chasing everybody's approval, achieving high test scores, dedicating your life to science and mathematics to save everyone else's; still, they deemed you not worthy. Well, we think you are. And if you were meant to be up there, you should have been. You are safe here. And you won't feel pain anymore. You will save lives—my life.
By T.M. García-Reiș5 years ago in Fiction
Damp Fire
On the first day of my life as Maria Garcia, they told me skin was fish food for days, but the baby was safe. Smoke enough tobacco, and you'd have heaven itself smelling like your local pub; that was precisely what Doctor Jones did wherever he went, and on that day, the first day of my life as Maria, he chose to satiate the ashtray by my hospital bed. Oh, I knew I ought to be used to the smell of wet cigarette ends--I knew some things I know I always knew. And thus, as Doctor Jones carried on narrating how the kind fishermen of Carmarthen spotted my body floating along the shore where Laugharne Castle stood, I knew I missed out on something somewhere. Doctor Jones told me how among suitcases, champagne bottles, jewelry boxes, hardbound books, leather-bound notebooks, hollow ceramic icons of gods and saints, cans of Pepsi-Cola, cigar cases, and shards of the plane I went down with, my belly swelled out to the chill and seagulls. My hands got nibbled to the bone, so they couldn't know if I had a ring.
By T.M. García-Reiș5 years ago in Humans
