One writer’s fictions overlap, alarmingly, with reality.
Suicide survivors on the uncanny allure of the Golden Gate.
What do the suicides of U.S. military personnel have in common with the food strikes put on by Palestinian detainees?
I was in the bathroom stall at the Armenian chicken place in Anaheim when I overheard Sarah say to her even more annoying friend Abeer at the mirror, where they were both putting on gobs of makeup, “I’m just going to kill myself, habibti, if I don’t make the triple axel at the championships next month.”
I had hoped… for what? A game of Scrabble on the way down, or to get married, or at the very least to link hands with a serendipitous octet of fellow self-murderers–the drop had certainly looked big enough for such skydiving antics.