It was the morning after your father had left that your mother took you to the beach. She spread a blanket over warm sand and stripped you down to your new blue bathing suit. Her red eyes were hidden behind… Continue Reading
I recognise the young woman causing the holdup at the checkout, from the local paper. Her husband drowned while they were out walking at the coast not long back, something to do with trying to rescue a dog. Behind me… Continue Reading
Once a month, I force myself to rummage through my purse and clean it out. I like to think of myself as a busy, worldly kind of gal and I accumulate tons of stuff in between cleanings; from gum wrappers,… Continue Reading
editorial by Camille Gooderham Campbell From the Editors We’ve got a few exciting things going on these days… First of all, Every Day Publishing has embarked on our first-ever crowdfunding campaign with an exciting anthology project that could really take… Continue Reading
I’m not usually this awkward. Really. I just didn’t say much because there was too much junk to contemplate. I guess it sounds mean or dismissive to call it that — junk — but that’s what it was. No one… Continue Reading
He spotted it bobbing on the wavelets out in the bay between the two islands, eventually waded out, wary of the hammerhead sharks that often chased fish in the turquoise shallows. On the eastern island he cupped it in his… Continue Reading
I miss my hair. It’s not all gone, of course — I’ve trimmed the ragged ends into a little gold cap. My mother calls it fetching, but she is the same foolish woman whose cravings for lettuce sent my father… Continue Reading
In one half mile, take the exit left, then turn left. Why did I tell you to get onto the freeway only to have you to get off again? Well, why’d you miss that turn back there? Maybe because you… Continue Reading
Listen to “The Gift” by Dustin Adams, read by Izzy David: [display_podcast] Dustin Adams is a U.S. Customs broker and currently owns his own brokerage business. He writes in the wee hours of the morning, in the dark, when no… Continue Reading
The sink had been drinking again, Momma told me. She threw the empty bottle into the garbage and it clinked against the other bottles. That was always when Pa got mad, storming around the house, yelling and smashing things. Black… Continue Reading