It was Sunday. Since Brad worked long hours during the week, Sunday was their date night, or to be precise, their date morning. This was the routine: they’d start their day with coffee in bed, reading poetry to one another… Continue Reading
Elena was good at math, but never liked to admit it. Her mother wouldn’t approve. Her mother hated many things, with numbers high on the list. It was a shame, given the beauty of integers. Her mother’s rage reeked of… Continue Reading
I know a stranger has found our hut because it lifts its legs and turns to face away. It’s never liked strangers. And I know what you’re thinking; yes, our hut can walk, but it needs rest, too. Little chicken… Continue Reading
The room is dimly lit. The woman who just impressed you by gulping her Budweiser in one of those craft-brew bars is now asking if you have children. Before this, she’d liked the way you won the game of pool… Continue Reading
I was a good girl today. Really good. Probably better than any eleven-year-old you’ll ever see. It started in the morning when I got out of bed without my mom even having to wake me up. It’s not hard, I… Continue Reading
It smells funny in here like Gran and Gramp’s basement. My nose tickles, but I hold in my sneeze. I’m as silent as a church mouse, just like Mom told me. We’re playing a game. She told me to run… Continue Reading
I’ll never forget the day. Winter was coming and you were on sale. Despite the approaching cold I couldn’t pass up such a bargain. At first, I was attracted by the famous logo on your chest, but it wasn’t long… Continue Reading
My grandmother’s voice sounded like static, the scratchy noise you hear as you are tuning into an AM radio station. Her awkwardly unique way of communicating was virtually unintelligible to most anyone outside our family circle. When I was around… Continue Reading
When I enter, Bob’s laughing into his whiskey while Steve’s gesturing wildly, mid-rant. “It only seems that way because we’ve got the attention spans of goldfish.” I spin a chair around and sit in it backwards. “Speak for yourself.” I… Continue Reading
The artist put a wet brush to the canvas, tracing myriad graceful lines that would coalesce, she hoped, into an abominable enough shape. Not in her eyes, perhaps, but her work had a certain reputation among her enthusiasts of late… Continue Reading