work

"Larissa," by Mindi K. Bagnall, inspired by "Vivisection" — "Larissa," by **Mindi K. Bagnall**, inspired by "Vivisection"

Recent.

“On Being Mistaken for the Other Elizabeth Ames” in Literary Hub

“Back to School, With a Baby” in Salon

“The Start of Something,” in Real Simple

Fiction.

"Vivisection," in Third Coast (winner of Third Coast's 2013 Jaimy Gordon Prize in Fiction, judged by Antonya Nelson)

The dead cats are stored in the sunroom at the back of the lab on plastic boards that slide into metal stacking units, the same kind used in the cafeteria to collect dirty trays. On the first day of the dissection unit we follow Mr. Tich to the sunroom where he pulls off the clear plastic tarp that wraps the cats like leftovers. The cats are in rows, small hammock shapes with legs and arms poking out into the air as if they’d all been stretching or struggling when they were frozen stiff with formaldehyde. Their bodies are the color of raw chicken breasts but duller, more like lunchmeat, the blush of ham, the thick pink plastic of salami. The cats are clean up to the neck where there is still a collar of fur. The bodies look like food or science, but the faces are still kitty-cat, eyes-closed and whiskers drooping. I almost want to reach out and pet one, but the fur is matted and slick; it looks as if it has been coated in resin and might be sharp to the touch. Like petting pine needles, I think. Most of the cats bare their teeth.

"Hundreds of Thousands of Flashes of Light," in Ninth Letter

“Hey girl, in your eyes I see a picture of me all the time.” —from “Step by Step” by New Kids on the Block

Harold had simply been exploring his options; no one could fault him for that. He was a portrait artist, and would remain a portrait artist no matter where his work appeared. Sellout. Says who? And who says there’s never been a beautiful portrait, a beautiful piece of art in what he previously might’ve called a “trashy magazine"? Teen Squeeze boasted a circulation of over 750,000! His former art school colleagues would kill for an audience like that. And surely, among all those pre-pubescent girls there were a few discerning eyes, even the rare girl who, when selecting which photographs to tear out and tape inside her locker, actually considered things like composition and lighting, and also that unnamable thing which makes a picture a portrait and a portrait a work of art.