This is a story about loss, about trying to find a home, about the fine line between reality and fiction, about the blurry barrier between sanity and insanity, about fighting fate, and about sometimes hating the parts of yourself that might only be trying to protect you.

My name? I don’t remember anymore, but I do remember the first time I witnessed it: twenty-two years, five months, fifteen days, six hours and ten minutes ago.

Fantasy about creativity and originality.

A memoir.

When hair-brained anthropologist Cosa Cooch suspects her husband is sleeping with his voluptuous teaching assistant, she bites back by traveling to the Bolivian rain forest. In Bolivia, Cosa encounters the Mostufans – an indigenous tribe known for their dashing young men, charismatic leadership, and reprehensible rituals. Will Cosa escapes the clutches of paranoia, magical realism, and her analyst before all is lost?

Prophecy and journey, responsibility, and nightmare. Aren’t we all strangers at some point in our travels?

The American West, like the Middle East, is still wild.

The piece is a short story in the style of magical realism. The story is told from the perspective of a piece of art.