No one could say when the town started coming apart. First the mill cut shifts. Then pay. Bread got a little higher every month until people stopped pretending not to notice. Jobs vanished quietly; older workers still kept showing up… Continue Reading
Corwin was the one who found the nest, high up in the split crown of a dead sycamore, and Corwin was the one who said they should eat. They hadn’t eaten since the morning before. Their grandfather’s dog had barked… Continue Reading
No matter how many people I met here, none of them had faces. Probably I should have listened to my mom, who always told me to draw them. I never did. She said, “Jimmy, if you don’t draw their faces,… Continue Reading
Brooklyn, 2002. The air smelled like radiator steam and pan-fried American failure. The July sun bleached every brick of Crown Heights into the color of singed flesh, and the sidewalks pulsated and vibrated, as if some bastard angel beneath the… Continue Reading
“Well… shit. I died,” I remember thinking. I totally wasn’t expecting it. Hit by a car. I also didn’t expect what came after. The answer to life’s ultimate mystery, except I still have some questions. First, I was shocked that… Continue Reading
Murph said it without thinking. “I don’t miss him.” The oven clicked. The coil glowed red. Heat filled the room, and she stood still in the center of the kitchen, a cold casserole dish in one hand and a dishrag… Continue Reading
Monday “Maud, he’s at it again. The new neighbour. He’s doing it doggy style in the garden.” “What!?” “Doggy Style. Just like yesterday.” “Downward dog, Idris. It’s called downward dog.” “Well, whatever it is, it’s obscene, shaking his arse around… Continue Reading
Aunt Maisy used to give Luna and I lemon-flavored cough drops and tell us they were real candy, and the summer I was four and Luna was six we took the bag of cough drops off Maisy’s shelf and ate… Continue Reading
The sparrow in the filing cabinet had been dead three days, maybe four. Marianne could tell by the way its feet had curled, the dim gloss still caught in its eye. She set down her cleaning kit and crouched, her… Continue Reading
Mira took her medicine in the dark. The jar was smooth and cold, the label hand-written in faint ink: B17 — Immuno-Restorative. Below that, smaller: Apricot kernel extract. Natural therapy. Unregistered. The lid creaked open. One seed in the morning.… Continue Reading