A flea complains about the quality of the blood she drains. A man believes his saliva sanctifies ice cream. A woman drives past suffering in an air-conditioned SUV while dreaming she is the one who suffers. A predator quotes scripture as his hands do their damage.
These stories don’t ask you to witness horror from a safe distance. They ask what it means that the distance was never safe to begin with—that you’ve been participating all along.
Written from positions of uncomfortable intimacy—parasites on skin, insects behind walls, children beside cooling bodies—The Complainer’s Blood occupies the space between observer and accomplice.
The question isn’t whether you’ll look away. It’s whether you’ll recognize what you’re looking away from.
Discover