‘Almost Ready’ by Alex Kitt

Stuck

From Pulp Literature Issue 50, contemplate a way out with ‘Almost Ready’ by Alex Kitt. Read an excerpt of this story below, then be sure to pick up a copy of Issue 50, Spring 2026 to read the rest.

Almost Ready

by Alex Kitt

When I wake at Pat’s this morning, Russ is already on my mind. He was in my dream. So I try to guide him out: with a shower, with breakfast, with emails, but he’s stitched into my skin, or I’m caged by the thought of him. Our relationship, it seems, crumbled into an afterthought of his. Enviable, to choose to leave, to own one’s release, not to be the one expecting time, talk, a call, or even a text.

Was I mean? Of course. I remember the clash of us, of Russ’s internal weather and mine. I spat in his face. He cheated, I let it go. Drunk, we played dice on his mom’s kitchen floor. Played charades in the car on long drives. Sweetly, his voice sometimes woke me—he liked talking to me even while I slept—his brown, worn, stone-like eyes gone inward with talk. It’s hard to understand how it all disappeared. Part of me still expects to find him in the bathroom, sucking a ketchup stain from his sweater with an annoyed look on his face.

Off and on, we were together for four years.

I first met Pat on the bus. He asked me what book I was reading: Grief is the Thing with Feathers.

My stop came too soon, so I stayed on two more while he put his number in my phone. That night after class, I walked back streets I didn’t expect to walk and felt new. Later, it became clear he wasn’t much of a reader, but he kept up with me about my reading, asking about Tom Joad or Lou Bigelow like they were friends: Was Tom shook when Casey died?

When I stubbed my toe, he jokingly asked, What do you think that symbolizes? Like studying literature was a joke, but the joke of life was okay. He wanted a real answer, so I told him, I’m stuck.

He lifted me off my feet, took a step, and set me back down. There, he asked, unstuck?

After two years at my local college, both Russ and I transferred to a university in Vancouver. Halfway through the Rockies, the starter on his Honda broke, and we had to push-start the car wherever we stopped along the way. After a year, Russ moved out of our shared room without notice. I couldn’t afford the rent, so I moved into a house off campus with three other students who also had no friends. Three girls: brunette like me, short like me, nothing like me.

They don’t own a broom. Within the first week, I see a mouse.

I buy two traps. One girl throws the first trap away because someone dropped peanut butter on it. After three days, I check the second trap: the bait is gone, but only an arm is in its place. The other roommate says, Yes, last night they heard it snap, and the mouse screamed — for a half hour, maybe? — but they fell soundly asleep as it chewed off its arm to escape.

One runs across my feet while I’m eating cereal.

Read the rest of this story in Pulp Literature Issue 50, Spring 2026!

The 2026 Kingfisher Poetry Prize is open until August 15th! Get your entries in ASAP for a chance at the top prize and publication in Pulp Literature! Find all the details, and enter, here.

Alex Kitt is an emerging writer from Red Deer, residing in Vancouver. He was the winner of The New Quarterly’s Peter Hinchliffe Short Fiction Award in 2023 and received the 2024 National Magazine Award for Fiction. We have previously published poetry and short fiction from Alex in Pulp Literature issues 34 and 36, and are delighted to have him back for a hat trick.