Four Fictions
Kim Chinquee


I felt good there, romping around in my halter top, doing Jell-O shots. We played cards and I thought the queen of hearts meant something. This guy played Billy Idol. I danced around like happy. I was sixteen and I didn't care. He was just, a guy. I grabbed him, hanging onto his belt-loop.

They'd Get Uniforms

The instructor did a roll call. Yelling in a cadence. They were up and down. Inward, upward, round. One wore pigtails and a low-cut, one turtlenecked, and make-upped. They wore jewelry and barrettes. They were short and long, and fats ones didn't belong there. Their heads bobbed. One was booted already.


Her boy wakes, tapping. He says it's time for Batman. She is frail, a Frisbee. She pins a towel to the back of his pajamas. He tells her he's a hero and she's back to sleep while he soars. She dreams of bombs and shootings. He flies from the airplanes. He jumps from the sofa, waking her.

Pepsi and Milk

He asked his mom for pop, and she talked about the caffeine. He got some milk and solved the cube, the Rubik's. He gave the mom the cube, asking her to mix it. She did, but it took her a while.