9.5 / May 2014

A man comes in. I tell him I won’t kiss him. He tries to take my sweater off but I tell him to leave it on because I am getting over a cold. I tell him not to take off my skirt but to push it up around my hips.

Little things like walking to the coffee table took hours if prep-time was counted. Trophies were on the floor everywhere. My toes were bandaged. My socks had holes. Those summers, I stepped on stuff. I stepped on gold and rocks.

In which every girl’s favorite dinoflagellate administers a lesson in self protection.

My name is Gemma. I was born in Makati Medical, during Typhoon Yoling. There were two of us born that night, but I’m the only one people see. My mother accuses me of making up stories.

I dreamed I was Marilyn Monroe, and I kissed me. I was so surprised. I said, "Marilyn honey, I thought we were dead!" "It is so wonderful to see us," I chimed in. "I missed us so much."

My proud parts and I come in from the street, with a pouch of honeycandy to suck.

I pushed through the gawking crowd until I was standing in front of the offender. His neck was fixed in the center hole so his Adam’s apple rested on the edge. His wrists were shackled in the holes on either side.

seven little scars wedged like an army of ants. under my arms, my thighs a maze, my fingernails. i think about it all the time. he had too much to drink that night, so he wanted me and i didn’t pull away.

Get a small tin tobacco box, flat, with rounded corners, boil it in two waters, and dry thoroughly. You want equipment that tells a story and you better grab it while you can. Your chance always pops up unexpectedly.

It brings whole new eras Of confidence to people Because if they can do this Then they know they can do anything Absolutely anything All you have to do is believe