Spencer Moseley

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...

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...

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 ...

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.

tell me a story, said my son. i tussled his hair. tussling is my thing. love a tussle. and i cracked open dr. seuss to page 40. just kidding. no dr. seuss book makes it past 3 pages, i’m pretty sure. GREEN EGGS AND HAM… then something about yams. idk. i lost the plot because i’d been selling bullshit all day and i was tired. but my son was fascinated. he was past the thumb-sucking age but now in the nail-picking stage, and he hung onto every word with this neutral expression, barely suppressing how excited he was that i was reading to him. i’m not sure what he got out of it. ok, just kidding again. he loved me. and i loved him. and reading to him connected us. and dr. seuss had enough rhyme scheme and a passable plot to keep his young brain engaged. i sipped my coffee. it had unsweetened almond milk and was an unsweet coffee. it had this fake flavor i could tolerate and slightly enjoy. chobani’s unsweet creamer was also weird. i guess all diet drinks are. he lulled into sleep at pa...

There was an Indian man sitting at a 45 degree angle from me at the campfire. He wasn't handsome. He had those jowls that bulldogs have and a white scar that zig zagged from his nose to the corner of his lip. I didn't know his name. In fact I hadn't said a word to him. But he intrigued me. I also couldn't stop looking at him. He was mostly quiet, and people would say things to him, and his directness and lack of social skills eventually pushed them away. He just tended to the fire. I don't know if he liked doing it. But he never stopped. And he had this old fashioned lantern that he filled with some sort of bullshit from his knapsack. Yeah a knapsack—with those colorful leather strips hanging from it that I saw in Pocahontas or whatever. The fire crackled and burned and a part of me wondered if he was on this pilgrimage almost for some sort of revenge reasons. There was a slight anger in his expression underneath the stoic look. He also stayed awake long after every...

     We walked alone through the woods, and I listened to the crunch of autumn leaves beneath our boots. We wore frayed tunics with our cowls pulled over our necks and heads. With each breath, ice-cold oxygen stung my windpipe, and I could feel it all the way to my stomach. I hadn't eaten all day and half-wondered if the air itself was quenching my hunger.      "I'm depressed," I said suddenly, surprising myself. I felt shocked, as if the words had sprung from my mouth accidentally.       David said nothing, and his silence sent me into a panic. Had I infringed on his conversational comfort levels? Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time I'd done that to a friend.       Friend? Boyfriend? Friend? Boyfriend?      He pulled an apple from his satchel and handed it to me. Then he pulled another and started eating it. I tried to glean anything from his expression, but he looked like I hadn't said anything. ...

Jeffrey sat under the glaring yellow lights and applied foundation and black mascara. He added three sixes under both eyes and an upside-down cross on his forehead for the finishing touches. He had dyed his hair green a while back and was pleased to see that it was only just beginning to lose its integrity. He would be back to his normal jet-black hair by Thanksgiving.  He walked up to the third floor, but Houston was hot and stuffy, so he opened a giant window with some effort to allow airflow. He had decorated a lot of the room himself, though it was mostly in disarray since the Halloween guests had run through lots of the cobwebs, stepped on his Ouija board multiple times, and tracked plenty of dirt that he hadn't bothered to sweep up. It was the last night, he figured. He didn't need to go all out anymore. He reflected on how he had scared one smoking hot chick to where her titties bounced in the air as she screamed. He always liked to stand in the corner where the moonligh...

"If your cat ever harmed my daughter, I'd drown your cat," said Martha jokingly. *Context: Martha's 2-year-old daughter had been pulling Dana's cat's hair and trying to ride her like a horse until the cat hissed in frustration.* Dana leaned back in her chair. She put her left hand under her right armpit. After some time, she replied with no venom: "When I was little, my family had a big cat named Lila. She was a good cat. And she was blessed with long white hair. I had a habit of pulling on this hair with all my might when I was little, and usually, my dad was there to tell me to stop when Lila hissed at me. But one day, he wasn't. And I ignored Lila's hisses until she bit my hand. I screamed in agony, and my dad ran over from the backyard. As he bandaged my hand, he said, 'Well, that's what happens when we pull a cat's hair like that.'" "Well, I was just joking," said Martha.  "Very nice," said Dana.

I looked at my car. No, through my car. My car burglar had kept it classy (silver lining). Only small fragments of glass littered my backseat. When sunlight caught them just right, they did resemble those diamonds Snow White's dwarves worked so greedily to collect. Heigh-Ho. Heigh-ho. It's work from home I go. 😏 My buyer greeted me as I entered the backroom with a pleasure I didn't share. I had arrived early. Which meant she would expect me to help offload the truck. With a smile I hoped looked genuine, I performed at a level of insincerity that surprised even me: "It's great to see you; It's been too long; Good thing I'm here early to help." After that, I reflected that a simple "Hey, how's it going?" would have sufficed.  She talked in a frenzied flurry of ADHD. At one point, she even hit me with a "What the French Toast," which made me feel like I needed to brush spiders off my arms. I met her changing conversation topics wi...

Xuân Hưong might just be my new favorite soup spot. I ended up there like most sick people do, needing some hot, spicy soup to dissolve the phlegm. Okay that was gross.  I had two restaurant options. Lem's was right nextdoor and had higher reviews. But it had a chain feel. Bright neon lights out front. Special parking arrangements. And I began to sense that negative reviews for Xuân Hưong might be based on appearance. Xuân Hưong looked unassuming. One of the lights was knocked out. The building looked worn as if it was entirely made of drywall. But it looked homey. I trusted my gut and walked in. I waved at the waitress behind the counter and she grinned but looked down. Good. I like when they show respect but also have a bit of a "IDGAF" attitude. That's when you know the food will be good.  "I'd like to order to-go," I said.  "Menu?" she asked in broken English.  "Yes." I sat down with a spiral bound menu with four simple pages. App...

"I love. What I see. Of myself. In you." He stumbled through it just like that, sitting on the corner of his bed. Part of his plaid, very soft comforter was balled up in one hand.  She reached out and put her hand over his, which felt awfully mentorish. "I think you could do better than me though." He thought about saying, let me decide that . But it felt cliche and not unlike a therapist maxim. So he said nothing at all and watched as she slipped her bra on. He felt tears welling up and repressed the urge to run his index finger along her thigh vein. The one that popped well out of her pale skin.  He thought about trying to be grateful at least for the time they'd had together. The cliff jumping. The long walks in Galveston. That one time she'd popped a champagne bottle, scaring him, and how her drunk ass had offered sex to "make up for it".  But as he watched her putting her shoes on now he felt pissed. She'd wasted his time. But then he real...