Spencer Moseley

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...

          Three men bore gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to a stable beneath the Bethlehem sky. They knocked urgently. Mary, picture-perfect holding her baby, motioned to Joseph to let them in. The men smelled of camel’s hair, body odor and lentils. They wordlessly placed their gifts before the baby, murmuring words in their own tongue.  Mary thanked them with a smile, and they left in terror. Their gifts appeared like the gifts offered by the ancient Greeks to appease pagan gods. If these rich men were that scared, Joseph felt he should be too. “Let’s go,” he said to Mary. Her face said she needed more convincing. "I dreamed of this moment." She looked at him and, for once, complied. He strapped the saddle on the donkey as Mary nursed the boy. Joseph wanted to kill him, and he hated himself for feeling that way. He thought of Moses smacking bare rock with his magic staff in frustration. Relatable. He grunted at himself in disgus...

          Nicodemus snuck out of the portico of Solomon as twilight dimmed over the Galilean sea. He had a heavy foot and kept looking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t heard or followed. His every step sounded thunderous to him. He found Jesus in a garden, smiling. His gait was carefree, and Nicodemus wondered at him.  “Hello, Nicodemus,” said Jesus, plucking a snow white lily. He had not turned to see Nicodemus, so Nicodemus wondered how he knew he was there. “Hi, Jesus,” said Nicodemus. His own voice sounded stupid to him.  Jesus sat on a rock, overlooking Jerusalem, and the filthy city looked pretty in torch light. Nicodemus perched nearby, an awkward ten feet away. Nicodemus had a question prepared and on his lips. He worked up the courage and stuttered through it, “Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “One must be born again to enter my kingdom,” said Jesus, turning to what seemed an automated reply. Had he had th...

“Lazarus, come out,” said Jesus, extending his arms toward the open tomb. The crowd, smelling of shit, stood there, waiting.  Lazarus emerged, covered in burial cloths blackened with blood and streaks of pus. The crowd gasped in amazement and started to dance. Songs rang out with shouts of, “Messiah, messiah.” “Why?” Lazarus wheezed, his voice barely audible through the burial cloths. “Lazarus,” said Jesus.  Something was wrong. Lazarus looked haggard.  “Fuck,” Lazarus screamed as he ripped off some of the cloth from his arm. Blood fell like rain as a scab reopened. Jesus remained calm but alert. The crowd behind them began to disappear as they went into Bethany to spread the news of Jesus’ miracle. “I’m sorry for your pain,” said Jesus. “You’re sorry?” Lazarus asked.  “Yes,” said Jesus. Lazarus let out a psychotic laugh.  “Why did you bring me back?” he asked.  Jesus paused and looked at him, “My father requested it.” “I was with Abraham in a place with no...

Well how long will you fuck her? said Jeff.  As long as she'll let me, I guess, I said. I almost said I suppose but knew I'd only be saying that to sound more sophisticated. More in control. I took another sip of Bulleit.  So that's that huh. I detected a hint of judgment and an unspoken request for a redeeming reason. I could've said that we did have chemistry or  who knows where this might go . But that didn't feel honest. Really. So instead I stood up to get the bottle for a refill. He tapped his cigar butt while looking down. Jeff was sophisticated. At least he liked to think so. He did use beard oil. I purposely poured his whiskey too quickly and enjoyed his panicked DUDE.  Truthfully I felt a little bad fucking someone just because they allowed it. She was a placeholder for someone I actually wanted. And fucking her anyway felt. Wrong. But I had made myself clear. I see us just as friends, I'd said. And she'd still agreed to keep fucking me. So maybe w...

I drank heavily at my karaoke bar of choice the other night: Bedrock Tavern. It should be called Ash Tray Tavern cuz that's how you'll smell after a thirty second visit.  It's quaint though. No one looks at you when you enter (could be cuz I'm white), but it's not hard to get a bartender's attention. I think a bartending requirement is a D cup.  I ordered my usual double Jack and Coke but forgot to tell them short. So it came in a 20 oz glass with mostly Coke. Whoops.  "You Tyler?" I asked the DJ hosting karaoke. "I'm Taylor." "Oh shoot man I'm so sorry," I over explained. "One day I'll get it." I asked him if he had "Cover Me Up". He said he did. I gave him my name timidly. He didn't react but I assumed he heard me and walked off.  I went and talked to a cute girl I'd met a couple visits before. She                                          ...