Spencer Moseley

He never did know what to do with his hands or legs or hips at the club before the drugs hit. Well to be fair he didn't know what to do with them most of the time. He was cursed with a level of self-awareness others didn't seem to share. Or were they all wearing masks of comfort and chillness? He grabbed drinks for his friends and realized it came out to $85 after the tip. He felt his chest tighten and breathily said "no big deal" when Jen asked if she could Venmo him for her drink.  She probably wouldn't Venmo me even if I'd said yes, he convinced himself. She did still owe him $12 for a Lake Trip when he'd spotted her some dough for some event he couldn't remember now. But he did not forget the $12. Jesus I'm intense about money, he thought.  He swayed a bit and noticed a cute black girl leaning on the counter, talking to her friends. She had purple lipstick and a yellow-purple dress where the two colors waved into one another in swirls. Her laug...

He had forgotten the butter so he decided to baste the chicken thighs in olive oil. It wouldn't taste as good, he knew. But it would have to do. His girlfriend was waiting in the other room. Well, she was absorbed in her video game. But that was okay, he told himself. It's not like he needed her hovering over everything he did. Though it would feel kinda nice. He chuckled slightly out loud. His girlfriend heard it.  "What's funny, James?" she asked.  She had this cute smile, and James lightened up at having her attention.  "Oh just thinking about you," he said.  "Oh yeah?" she said and twirled some hair in her finger. "Wait, but then why did you laugh?" "I was thinking about how you told Jenny to go fuck herself for only reaching out about religious bullshit." Ashley laughed and the last laugh lasted a while, so James knew it was real. Even better.  "Yeah, that shit was so annoying. Come see my Hades 2 build," said...

I sat down and pulled my laptop from my bag and set it on the dock. I put my iced coffee on my desk, grateful that I didn't have a coaster. This office didn't deserve my respect. I typed in my password, hit enter, and watched as the circle of dots spun at varying speeds.  "Could I see you in my office?" asked Diane, my manager, standing uncomfortably close to me at the cubicle entrance.  "Of course," I said with the best smile I could produce.  I sat down opposite her after sliding the glass door of her office suite closed behind me. She definitely wasn't afraid of eye contact, and she also wasn't afraid of looking pissed off. I met her gaze as best I could, already figuring what this was about. I felt my whole body heat up with microwave speed.  "You weren't working by 8 am," she said. She folded her hands together in front of her on the desk. I held onto the wooden chair rails like they were keeping me from falling. "I was at my ...

I had practiced this move so many times, but I couldn't do it now. I wasn't feeling it. The bow felt extra heavy in my hand, like it was made of iron. I looked over and saw Christopher and Martin talking to each other and looking at me out of the corner of their eyes. They were laughing quietly. I laughed too as if they'd told me the joke too, and their confused reaction to my laugh made me turn away quite quickly. I consoled myself thinking, Maybe they're not laughing at me. In fact, I have no clue what they're talking about.  The fact that the words "in fact" were part of my inner monologue made me laugh. Perhaps my inner self was a scholarly monk. I pulled the bow string back and felt the arrow wobble around my shaky finger. Catherine, standing next to me, had already fired off two shots.  I could do better than that, I thought. Not because she's a girl, of course. Of course! This gave me a surge of courage. Not only because I felt superior to her b...

His hands drifted over his body wherever they would and found a safe place. His hair smelled like salt and red roses. They danced together, swaying to the sound of the breeze. He imagined the pair of them slowly floating above the earth and standing on top of the sun, body to body, collecting the sun's heat. They would glow brighter and brighter and then had to return to earth to not burst into flame.  No one can spend that much time on the sun. He imagined catching the sun's rays and watching them turn to liquid gold in his hands. He imagined it was a smooth, thick liquid; and he and his partner covered themselves in it until they maintained the sun's glow without having to be on the sun itself.  They walked hand in hand all over the earth, collecting flowers together. For that was their life's purpose. God had told them so.  They multiplied the flowers. They multiplied the love they shared with every living being, man and beast.  Raccoons even got a taste of the su...

There was this fucking fairy. I'd created it to survey the lands and report back to me. But lately it would just fuck. I was lowkey jealous of how easily this fairy got pussy. Or dick. Or both at the same time. In weird positions. I watched like a creep as my creation galivanted around the hillsides just power fucking. Like what the fuck. Why wasn't I getting any but my stupid little fairy was Lord Dionysus himself? He'd report back to me and I pretended to find his findings helpful, "A wench at the Rusty Tavern says you're not a fit ruler," he'd say. Or, "Brenden the bold challenges you to a duel."  I hadn't the heart to tell him his "findings" sucked. I was self-aware enough to know that my anger was more at myself than my fairy. I hadn't the courage to approach damsels or knights and just straight up say things like, "you're hot, how would you like a toss in the hay?"  On the other hand, I felt that criticizing ...

Ya don't say! I said.  Why'd you say that? I asked myself. I anxiously did something weird with my hands. That must be what that bitch means by my anxious motions, I thought. Meh. She was right. I shouldn't feel so annoyed with her for just calling me out. Just felt like a power imbalance. Like she could correct me on shit but if I returned the favor, suddenly it's a problem. Even though her public speaking delivery was about as energized as a turtle who'd just hit a blunt.  Fortunatelyyyy Maggie didn't mind what I'd said and smiled and a small laugh slipped out. Not forced, I noticed. I liked how her smile was small on her face. Because her face was rather round and made her whole mouth look small. Like one of those weird paintings.  I gave her the ice cream cone that had slightly dripped on my thumb and she started licking it. I couldn't help feeling a little turned seeing her tongue like that. My brain immediately wandered. But then we sat down and ta...

He bent over, unsure if he wanted to be there but already committed. It was immediate, no buildup. He moaned. Not with pleasure. But with what he'd heard others do in videos. It seems right, he thought, pushing the man's chest to where the man was now on his back while he did the riding. It wasn't bad, but he wasn't getting much pleasure from the experience. At least, not as much as the man was. He reflected that it might be nice to hop off and get the man an Uber right then. But that felt selfish. He allowed things to continue. Then he lay back and let the man finish on his stomach. Now that was unpleasant.  The man kissed him, telling him how his noises had helped him get there. It felt like a pro sport post game interview. He nodded and smiled hoping it looked genuine. He didn't quite feel like he was in his body. Literally. He saw himself from the side of the bed and watched the man hovering over him, breathing heavily. He watched himself smile and could see fro...

He danced. And at one point it felt more like the music was moving him than like he was moving to the music. His necklace felt uncomfortable as the sweaty ends of his hair got caught in it as he thrashed around, but he hardly noticed. He had not felt this free in a long time. As thoughts of pursuing other girls subsided, all that was left was the music, occasional sips of vodka cranberry, and wondering what position the music would direct him to next. He swayed. He imagined girls being into his perceived carefree attitude. But I bet they can detect that too, he thought. Girls can always tell, huh. Then the DJ directed some bullshit line dance, and his rhythm broke. He felt discombobulated. He tried to keep up briefly through the first part of the song but to no avail. He panicked slightly too. But he calmed himself, remembering that the moment would pass and a better song would come on. Why did he panic so easily? he wondered. He shut his eyes and just swayed, knowing he must look sill...

You are not what I intended, Creator said. You're even better.  The humanoid's arms moved, exploring the dark room, lit only by the hallway light slipping through the cracks of a door.  I shall name you Steven, he said.  Steven did not acknowledge that but did fall off the cold steel operating table. He was oozing a yellow-white liquid, but Creator did not panic. He simply watched. Not indifferent.  Steven's arms shook as he lifted his humanoid frame, liquid dripping from his body. He crawled freakishly fast to the sliver of door light, and he started banging on the door. His screams sounded like a deaf man's. His eye scanner scanned the door. And rescanned several times. Finding no weaknesses, he sat down, breathing heavily.  It's okay, Steven. You are okay. Creator brushed his fingers through his dark brown goatee and a hint of a smile crept across his face.  It's time you explore the outside, he said. Creator's eye scanner made some self-checkout scannin...

I scoured the karaoke bar desperately searching for a hot single girl. There was a table of three girls and two guys, so perhaps one of them was single. That felt somewhat promising. I kept refreshing FB Dating and decided to spend ten minutes swiping. My friends were not on their phones so I felt guilty for being on mine. But I crushed that doubt remembering that nothing means anything and that we will all eventually die so who cares.  The table had lots of wet spots, and I didn't want to touch it since it was sticky too. I had already bought four green tea shots and I was slowly sipping a Gatorade-green margarita—so sugary I could not taste the Lalo Tequila I had spent extra money for.  I reminded myself what ChatGPT had told me. It said that looking for girls instead of being present is usually a less enjoyable time, and it was right. Damn that AI is good , I thought. So I tried to get back to the moment and turned to my friend to make fun of one of the singers. We had some...

I agonized over seeing if the Chinatown pet spa had finished grooming my dog or not; but I hated to be that guy. The guy who bothers people. The spa lady told me that I would get a text when my dog was ready, and I hadn't gotten a text yet. On top of that I was anxious about being late for an appointment. So anyway I walked past the spa. "For sure I'll return and check on him soon," I thought, trying to restore my self-confidence. Lying to myself that I was just "giving the spa people more time" reduced my conviction that I was a pussy. I walked past the spa. I had no real plan. I had just finished a gym workout, but I hadn't walked a full thirty minutes after said workout. This could be my cooldown walk. I entered an Asian liquor store near the spa. It was clean and smelled like a minty car air freshener. The store's AC was just weak enough to be uncomfortable. There was an oval, wrap-around counter in the center of the store, which looked more like...

Why did you have to be such a bitch , he thought. He rubbed his eyes and starred out the slightly dirty car window. One traffic light made him squint, and he noticed its rays shining in four distinct directions.  She didn’t have to be such an asshole at the end. But maybe she did. Maybe that’s how you make sure two people don’t try to linger as friends who secretly still want something. He sipped some Mike's Hard Lemonade that his friend had left in his cupholder. It was warm.  He was waiting for her to finish some fight with a bridezilla she'd run into in the bar. He wanted to fuck her, sort of. Not really. He was just sad and craving something tender. He leaned his seat back fully and balled his eyes out. He felt his chest heave and ho as it always did with heavy sobs.  But then it subsided, and he was back to a semi-depressed, semi-okay state of mind. The most common state in his adult life. When had he lost his passion? he thought. Was it when he left the military? Wa...

It wouldn't be accurate to say they ignored Tim. They called Tim. They talked to Tim. But there was some force field limit. A wall that couldn't be breached, not unlike that giant bubble in Star Wars Clone Wars that kept out the invaders with their red laser bullets.  "How's work going, Tim?" They'd ask him.  "Oh it's fine," he'd say. And perhaps he'd go into more detail. Perhaps he'd mention a coworker who'd given him trouble. Or a new project that was tiring him out. But then this limit would come up whenever it drifted toward why his days were heavy. Like someone quietly turning a dial down. Not hostile. Just… less room. His lack of Christian faith seemed to sit there between them. And so any conversation that ventured into why his life was difficult was nearly off-limits. Not because his sibs would fight him on it, but because they felt his issues would be non issues if he simply returned to Christ. He had tried talking about ...

His head was bald, except for some, what looked like 5 o'clock shadow beard stubble, on one part of his head. Like if you were to look at someone's head from above and divide it into four quadrants, that beard stubble would be covering one of those quadrants. The stubble looked like the rough side of Velcro. And then he had toilet paper wrapped around his head where a headband would normally sit. There was no blood or anything, so I wasn't sure if this was a fashion or religious choice. Like maybe his religion demanded some headwear, but he'd forgotten to put on his religious headwear that morning; and this was his only way of meeting that obligation.  None of that matters to this story. I'm not even sure if this is a story really. All that to say, this man was talking in broken English to a lady across from him. She was mostly dressed normally, all in black, and her English was equally broken. Well not broken. I think in order to speak in broken English, you would ...

Colorful ribbons connected the rooftops for the Dia de los Muertos celebration. Those lights you always see at bars with an outdoor patio were also strewn around. I liked that.  I grabbed a concha from a street vendor, not because I particularly liked them—they always drained the moisture out of my mouth—but because they reminded me of grandma. Anytime she was with us as kids she always had to buy us conchas or those empanadas with pumpkin.  I was by myself this year and had snagged a candle with a base to catch the wax. I walked around the courtyard and looked at the murals with skeletons. Some were playing instruments. And some were in ridiculous dance poses. But they were all happy.  I wasn't unhappy or happy this year. I was as indifferent as could be. And that felt worse. I wanted to feel SOMETHING. Especially with the death of my grandma having been so recent. I was SUPPOSED to feel something looking at these scenes. The only thing catching my eye were the gorgeous ...

Content note: This piece explores themes of depression and suicidal thoughts in a fictional context. Please take care while reading. "Things really took a turn when you dyed your hair jet black," I said. "They turned before that." "When?" I persisted. "This was always me."  I heard the shakiness in the voice. I could feel their anxiety so fully. How could I empathize this completely? Never mind that. I dug my heels in.  "You wrote poetry before." "I wasn't really a poet though. I was a wannabe poet." "I liked your poems." The shaking came next. The breaths grew shallow. Red flush to the face. "If you think I can just be that unstable loser I once was—" Wait.  The "I"... wasn't me...  Someone else was talking to me— Questioning me.

The clinks of silverware on plates. The sizzle of eggs frying in hot oil. The smiles of my waitresses, their soothing voices. It was almost too much in Houston's Avalon Diner. Not objectively too much. Just too much for me. You see, for me to not have anxiety, I need to be curled up with my dog watching TV and partially dissociating in a comfy bed. And outside of that experience, fear accompanies me in some small way.  "I'll umm, yeah umm. I'll umm have the, uhh, water and a coffee please." "Would you like to order food too?" (I think she said that, couldn't quite hear her so I assumed that's what she said).  "Oh, yes, umm, I'll also have the uhh, turkey, cheese—swiss cheese—and avocado omelet." "Yes sir," and she said it with an affectionate smile I didn't feel I deserved.  Jesus, dude, how many times you gonna say umm and uhh?? The wait for each item was perfect. I was able to finish a chapter of my book between each...

Person 1: Holy shit, there’s a person standing on top of that building. Person 2: Holy—damn, you’re not kidding. Except he or she… they? Looks weird. Person 1: Yeah. I see a face. Person 2: Same. And a giant heart underneath it. Person 1: Where’s the rest of his body? Person 2: Yep. Wait is it a him? Oh yeah it’s a him. I see it now. Person 1: He has no other body parts. Just a face and a heart. WTF. Person 2: Is he trying to jump? Person 1: He’s definitely looking down at us. He’s smiling. (beat) Now he’s panicking. Person 2: Oh god. I can see his heart pounding. Like… aggressively. What the fuck is this? Person 1: I just wanted to see the Empire State Building. Person 2: Should we call for help? Person 1: OH SHIT. HE’S JUMPING. Person 2: Wh—what the— Why is he falling in slow motion? Person 1: He’s not falling. He’s… hovering. Person 2: He’s fully freaking out. But also— He's... fine? Person 1: I don’t want to catch him. Person 2:  Ew gross. Why would we? P...

i don't wanna keep living in a world where we pretend the “Baskin Robbins” logo shouldn’t be a robin (the bird) “basking” in the sunlight. we simply have to be better as a species and make this happen. not for our sake— for posterity. would we really want aliens to visit us and NOT see that? that’s the real question. a superhero whose only power is that he has a detachable penis. now that’s a story i can get behind. he uses his own dick as a whip, swinging it by the shaft while the hairy balls knock out his foes. okayyyy, spencer. stfu. lately i’ve been feeling like a silly goose. not always in the good way. i think it’s cuz i let judgment get to me. like if i’m singing in a grocery store (not too loudly, i’m not a psycho) and people look at me unfavorably, i give fucks. i literally hand them a fuck. they open the fuck-letter and it reads: “i’m sorry for being me. you are entitled to this letter as emotional compensation for making you feel uncomfortable while you looked for ...