Category Archives: Fiction

By Christopher Stoddard The young banker named M wears over his head a black dust bag made of thick cotton.  It came with the Allen Edmonds loafers he bought for his new job at Franklin-Miller Financial in Midtown.  The black, … Continue reading →

Happy One-Year Anniversary to ANTICHRIS_!  It’s been 8,544 hours since the site began. Thanks for visiting!  Please signup to receive our email subscription.  By Christopher Stoddard The clock on the man’s iPhone read 9:11 a.m. He only saw the time … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard Godot showed up awhile ago.  He was here for like five minutes.  After greeting nearly every d-bag in the bar, he ejaculated on my face and left.  I feel so weird because I’ve been waiting to receive … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard He can’t write anymore. He can’t write about himself or his personal experiences anymore, because he next-to-never has any significant ones, and on the extremely rare occasions that he does, they die before they get interesting. He … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard (excerpt from A Death to Organize; first published on 12/4/09 by East Village Boys ) THEN I love it when he digs his hips into mine. I don’t really love him, not J—just the act of the pelvic … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard “Live or die, but don’t poison everything,” said Dr. Ernest T. Death. To clarify, he continued by stating, “That is the first line of Anne Sexton’s ‘Live’ from her 1967 Pulitzer Prize-winner, Live or Die.” He was … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard That morning, Pat killed a mosquito. During the night, it had sucked the blood from his thighs, left elbow, upper ear and middle finger. While scratching his plethora of itchy bites, he spotted the vampire-insect on the … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard My mind feels cloudy. When I’m riding my bike around the city, I feel as if I’m fighting through an extraordinary fog, a permanent, translucent film that’s invaded the air. I don’t know its origin, but as … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard Feral was on his way to retrieve his belongings that he’d left at your apartment. Your roommate had them at her studio, so there was no worry of him seeing you. He hoped he never did again. … Continue reading →

By Christopher Stoddard DEAR CAIN I knew it was over the last time I swallowed your cum. It was the morning after the night we’d had dinner, a meal I’d paid for to make up for getting jealous the night … Continue reading →