TEMPTING THE WICKED • by Samantha Memi
I was dead. Lying on the floor thinking: why me? It seemed so unfair. There were so many things I wanted to do with my life. It was too late now. There was no one to give me the kiss… Continue Reading
I was dead. Lying on the floor thinking: why me? It seemed so unfair. There were so many things I wanted to do with my life. It was too late now. There was no one to give me the kiss… Continue Reading
Jesse studied the floorboards, rubbing a week’s worth of whiskers. “Are you sure, the Long Riders?” Nora rose, her chambray skirt sweeping an indigo arc. “I heard the order clearly.” “How many?” Jesse crossed to a grimy window, the information… Continue Reading
The last three beers from Joe’s poker game wanted their freedom so I hauled my butt out of bed and headed for the john. Had to pass through the kitchen and there he was, ass against the counter, arms folded on… Continue Reading
The world would end at 6:09 p.m., but Meg’s final batch of chocolate chip cookies would be done in three minutes. She had kept the dough in the fridge all night, chilling it to perfection, and began to bake before… Continue Reading
The white oak that stands at the end of our road has a soul like mine. Momma says it’s blasphemy to say such things. I don’t think Momma’s ever seen the tree — not really. We walk under its sprawling… Continue Reading
“What the hell is that?” Sam stared at the contraption strapped over Victor’s chest. “I hear breastfeeding is better for babies than bottle feeding. I want the best for our little girl.” He leaned over the cot to pick up… Continue Reading
“You’re not my doctor,” said the old woman. Quivering hands clutched at her blankets. “I won’t have any robot doctors.” “I’m not a doctor.” The metal figure wore military uniform. Its face was blank metal save for a pair of… Continue Reading
Danny checked to make sure the baby was really asleep, then quietly closed the storybook and placed it on the shelf. As he turned to leave the room, a title caught his eye: When I Had You, I… The memory… Continue Reading
The moon caught the garden in its grasp, outlining the vegetables in blue twilight. Victor strode between the rows, his hawk eyes scanning the crop. Slowly he bent, fingers drifting towards the soil, hovering over a burgeoning weed. His eyes… Continue Reading
I was a little worried when I saw the e-mail, time stamped three in the morning. Why would Rembrandt write me an e-mail? He’d never had anything to say to me before. I looked over at him. He continued to… Continue Reading