Spencer Moseley

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...

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 ...