Nikita Linivenko

“Disassociative ” by Nikita Linivenko

Sunday. October 20th. Since the start of October they’ve had me squirreled away here. A couple weeks pass and I tell them, There’s fuck all else to do. They say, keep a diary. I ask them, do I look like Anne Frank? Then they force feed me some of these little pills they stuff down your gullet. These ass-wipes are in here with me, and they know it. So out come the little blue and pink and yellow pills. We’re one big happy family, after all. The joint’s called Granola Heights. Western end of Ohio, near the border Ohio shares with Ind...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Kazuryu ” by Nikita Linivenko

Just after six on a grey, wet morning Raharu sat on a stool absently twisting herself side to side, her hands lightly drumming the island countertop in front of her. On and off, she played with the sleeves of her thin, loose sweater. A Toshiba something-or-other stood open on top of the laminate. On screen, The Incredible Shrinking Man fought his way past stray cat, flooded basement and bad rear-screen projection. The rented cabin where she was doing fuck-all this sleepless morning was nestled on the upper slope of a thickly wooded moun...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Fire Hazards ” by Nikita Linivenko

“There’s a Michael Mann marathon,” Dignan tells Kilroy, wrapping her arm around Kilroy’s bare shoulder. For the second day in a row, the shades are drawn, the AC cranked. Even so, the stench of their b.o. mingles together. “Tonight, I mean.” She fixes him with those dark hazel eyes. Kilroy doesn’t say a word. “Honest, I don’t give a crap about Heat or Manhunter, but Collateral - I could watch Collateral again.” Kilroy dangles an arm over his side of the bed and grabs the remote off the floor. He passes the remote to the slim fire crotch...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Noveau Americain” by Nikita Linivenko

Through all that rain-streaked glass, what we see is how lemmings fill the stands. Fingers poke through chainlink, some with faces pressed to the safety fence. Harley engines rev above steady downpour. Bike helmets, slick with rain. Small pools reflect from floodlights above the track. Two-wheelers falling in after the speed-demon on pole position. Surrounding speakers strung above the heads of the mosh. Brazilian Girls, looped as “Noveau Americain” blares. How the wind blows, the corrugated iron that acts as overhang does little to shield t...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Gold, Standard” by Nikita Linivenko

“The Superman exists, and he’s American!” -  Alan Moore, Watchmen Yup. There it was. Mr. Gold on the cover of US WEEKLY. The cover of The Boston Globe. Mr. Gold, as he graces the top story on whatever outlet you consume. The cover of this rag outta Seattle. This one, outta Chicago. His beaming mug dazzling you from the TV set or YouTube home page. He tops the headlines in your feed. Time’s ‘Man of the Year.’ Time’s Man of the Century! Jon Gold, who can see the neutrons you’re a composite of, who can the see the neutrinos as those ...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Ame-no-Uzume ” by Nikita Linivenko

Dignan sparks a loosie and the left sandal slips off her toes. “Liz, babe?” a soft voice chirps somewhere above the pale, slender legs. My head on par with her waist, her legs spread as they dangle through dirty yellow bars. Through those khakis, her firecrotch is bare - I’d fork over five bucks on that. Her shorts, loose at the thighs, clasped at the waist by a flat nylon belt with plastic buckle. I flash her my best bitch face, like, babe, get that flip-flop yourself. She issues a husky laugh, like, whatever. Dignan blows herself a sm...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Paranoid Polaroid ” by Nikita Linivenko

“Liz, you fat-titted bitch.” A smirk; a sultry weight creeps into Dignan’s voice. From the kitchen she hears the rush of the sink. “Liz, you fat-titted bitch,” Dignan repeats, louder this time. She’s not all mad, not really. All cheek, she slinks into the kitchen the way a cat slinks. She holds up the polaroid, waves the polaroid around with two fingers. Liz barely bats an eye, How she says, Dignan, yes, doll, I see you; Liz, at the dishes in a manner that says, Not now. Dignan does what she does, breathes down Liz’s neck to s...

1 like 0 comments 0

Read story

“We, Who Have Invented Happiness ” by Nikita Linivenko

How no one notices what looks to be a very real and grown Canadian man snoozing in his seat, as lights come up and those rubbernecks shuffle out, that was easy enough to explain. Kilroy Clem, he blends in, and he’s just that good. Kilroy, lulled, the benign indifference of the universe hovered above him, drifted and came to in the dark. Lame, that. Kilroy, as he told the story, would zhush up the details. Gonzo, a famed journalist coined the term. Here’s Kilroy, Gonzo details on the fly:    How he stuffed his gob with edi...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Clouds Up ” by Nikita Linivenko

“How it happened was, I went too fast on a twenty-one and hit a pothole.” “And?” “And what?” Farley stood there, palms out. “That’s it. That’s how I broke my hymen.” “Bull-shit,” this Sophomore, he spat as though it were two words. “You can’t break your hymen on a bik-” “That wasn’t you, that was Joey Lauren Adams.” “Jo-huh? Wha-” “Her character, I mean - in Chasing Amy? She tells Ben Afleck that- hold on, I need to look this up-” a small screen lit up Shylo’s palm. “...Yeah, see? A lot of chicks break their hym...

1 like 0 comments 0

Read story

“Smiles of a Summer Knight ” by Nikita Linivenko

“We have all the time in the world,” Klim reminds him gently. “Do not rush.”  Bones, palm down, fingers curled, his hand hovers over the board.  “One-touch rule?”  Klim shakes his head. “It is a stupid rule. I often brush pieces I have no wish to move.”  Bones pulls back his arm. He rests his paw on his knee.  The king’s pawn, pushed forward two squares. From Klim’s side of the board, the queen’s bishop’s pawn, that, too, is pushed up two squares. A Sicilian of little interest. Bones, he’s white, he knocks over a paw...

1 like 0 comments 0

Read story

“Unraveled Fringe ” by Nikita Linivenko

"Here's the thing – Coyote Ugly was a terrible movie,” Clyde raised his voice a decibel. Muffled loops and synths sworled. Tuggs waited. “but, but, as trash as that movie was, Coyote was a near-perfect snapshot of the early Oughts.” The pulse reverberated along the pavement and jumped their shoes and jolted up two pairs of ankles. “Still, though, dumpster-fire of a movie.” The pair reached a corner. Tuggs Morningwood raised his eyes. Neon buzzed above their heads. Between hot pink and icy blue, their faces rouged and paled. The monologue, Cl...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“A-Reel, B-Movie ” by Nikita Linivenko

"Cut!” A plain, sharp bark breaks up the action. Two short buzzes pierce the sound stage, the red-eye near the door snuffs out. With the cameras dead, people are free to move about. All those little elves, the stagehands, fifth business to the Stars, the salted chaf who make all those beautiful people shine. Hollywood is no place for a skeleton crew.  Brad, Tom pick themselves up and dust off sugar glass, Brad massaging his jaw. Fuck! Most of the action was blocked, but that sucker-punch, that right hook Tom threw, Jesus. “Leave the doo...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“A Long Drive With Nothing To Talk About” by Nikita Linivenko

The powder in the baggie isn’t just any one thing. It’s a cocktail of crushed capsules. I wet a forefinger and run it through the inside of the plastic baggie and rub the prescription speed into my gums. To stay awake. I hear a song I don’t like. I switch it off. Before I see the rest of her, the first thing that knocks me out is those legs. Fucking ghostly pale in the headlights, they stick out, thick and marbled and you can just tell they lead up to a great ass. The second thing is, Why is she wearing a wool skirt in the middle of a piss ...

0 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Saguaros Don't Grow in Brazil ” by Nikita Linivenko

Submitted to Contest #99

“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain – I’ve seen sunny days I thought would never end.” - James Taylor   Another handful of speed to keep me from crashing. “listen, I saw this movie once, an old movie and it was in black and white and Portuguese. Brazilian but, you know, obviously Portuguese language. It was called Black God, White Devil and the landscapes in it remind me a lot of the one we’re passing through now. The desert, the Saguaro’s- What’s that? Saguaro’s don’t grow in Brazil? Well, whatever type a cactus they got down there –...

7 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“2 A.M. ” by Nikita Linivenko

Submitted to Contest #97

That 2 A.M. fresh air. Dignan is on the mattress beside me, struggling to get through Gravity’s Rainbow and giving up, getting no further than I did. My chin rests on the pane of an open window, my right arm extending onto the garage roof. I let the drops plop down from the eaves and soak the tip of my cig, and mingle with the grease in my hair. I stare at nothing in particular. Mostly streetlights shimmer in the lane. Rivulets gush along the curb and spill under manhole covers set into the sidewalk. Twice a car – different each time - plow...

8 likes 0 comments 0

Read story