She was already dead, the doctors told us. Had been dead for quite some time. There was nothing to do about it now, nothing to do but what had to be done. It wasn’t sinful, they said. We were just… Continue Reading
I knew about her in advance of course; the Hutchings Center had called before they released her to me for subsequent therapy. “Hyper-religiosity. No longer violent, but needs to talk more, and to a woman, I think,” the psychiatric nurse… Continue Reading
“Hit me,” I say, sliding onto my favourite bar stool. “And make it strong.” Maudie eyes my dirt-encrusted skin and bloody fingernails as she grabs the kettle. “Oh honey, what’d she do this time? Bury you alive?” I nod. “Fire… Continue Reading
I’ve never been afraid of the monster under my bed. I can’t recall ever asking my parents to leave the door ajar and I never wanted a night light. I found comfort in the silence, even when all I could… Continue Reading
Her husband knew about the closet stacked with art supplies. The paints, pencils, pastels, dozens of brushes of varying quality. Chalk, charcoal, and graphite. After Emma turned three, she dedicated a corner to craft supplies, glitter, stickers, markers and crayons.… Continue Reading
I drown those I play with in the salty deeps. They struggle and scream against my lips. I kiss them, my arms like soft nets. They despair, eyes gazing into mine until the gazes lose that spark. That life, that… Continue Reading
Gene had always been a lucky guy. He attributed his luck to good genes, of which his family had an overabundance. He was fresh-faced and rosy, had a strong body and a sturdy build, and enjoyed health and happiness and… Continue Reading
Louise arrived late for her second homecare client of the day. At fifty-nine, she might be on the cusp of elderly herself. The beginning of spring marked her fifth year of employment with in-home care. She hadn’t missed teaching art… Continue Reading
The main problem with the workshop was that we were all writing in different languages. Each of us. I came to understand it as part of a study led by a professor of linguistics, though I’m not sure that story… Continue Reading
In the morning, Mrs. Anderson said: “We’re all just dustbins. You and I are no different from cobwebs or used paper plates. Everything inside us gets swept away by the wind eventually.” By afternoon, Principal Lopez was standing in the… Continue Reading