death
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From the Archives: Rumpus Original Fiction: Em
For her twenty-first birthday, Kiều’s younger siblings set fire to her bed.
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From the Archive: The Weight of Our Living: On Hope, Fire Escapes, and Visible Desperation
I want to leave the party through the window and find my uncle standing on a piece of iron shaped into visible desperation, which must also be (how can it not?) the beginning of visible hope.
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The Last Book
The poet goes to the supermarket for peanut butter. The poet cleans the toilet. The poet responds to emails.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: White Ash
My wife, Ritu, a receptionist at a motel, works four nights a week. In the morning, I pick her up in our used Honda and drive her home. After she showers, I bring her a cup of fresh ginger and…
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From the Archive: Rumpus Original Fiction: Forty-Six
Waiting to turn forty-six is like standing in the unrelenting sunshine.
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From the Archive: What It Is to Be Human: Talking with Ottessa Moshfegh
Ottessa Moshfegh discusses her new novel, MY YEAR OF REST AND RELAXATION.
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Voices on Addiction: Motherless in Albertsons
I am sick with grief, triggered by my mother’s death, in turn triggered by Chardonnay.
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Joe at the Aquarium
I pushed him so he glided through the fish, the eels, the boxed-in worlds of blues.
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Rumpus Original Fiction: What Wasn’t
She gave him a small, relieved laugh. In another world, she replied.
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What Russian Grammar Taught Me about Death
I wanted to feel in control of something, but I didn’t know how to say that.
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Laughing Through It: Emily Austin’s Everyone in This Room Will Someday Be Dead
Morbid humor exists for a reason: to poke fun at our inevitable ends and lighten its emotional load.
