FALLING • by Michael Guillebeau
We are sitting on the brink, and I am cleaning my gun.You say, “This is something I can do by myself.” I nod.“And yet, here I am.” You kick your legs over the edge like a little girl, back and… Continue Reading
marriage
WHEN I WAKE • by Evelyn Fletcher Symes
Some women drove the coast road. Crammed like sardines into tired, old cars. They pooled their ration stamps for gas and ate what food they could find along the way. Laughing and swaying they listened to swing music as the… Continue Reading
THE ORCHARD THAT ROOTED US • by Annette L. Brown
“The old orchard was good to us. Nearly 30 years,” my husband sighs. “But the replanted version will be more efficient.” He shoots me a sideways glance, his invitation to ask. “Do tell.” I smile as I angle my eyes… Continue Reading
WHERE MULBERRIES FALL • by Odile Mori
In summer, the soles of Eva’s feet were permanently stained crimson from playing barefoot under the huge mulberry tree that to her ten-year-old eyes seemed to take up a full half of her backyard. Every day she ran outside, squashing… Continue Reading
HAMMER TIME • by Jan Allen
For three years I’ve been thinking about divorcing my husband. Google tells me there are trillions of nerves in my body, and Barry has gotten under every last one. The scary thing is I’ve never lived alone, not once in… Continue Reading
GATHER THE DARKNESS • by Quinn
The snap of the twig was always the best part. The scent of the dried wood, dead for months now, would rise to her nose. She would inhale its scent, drinking in lost memories of seasons long since passed. The… Continue Reading
FOUND IN THE FLOOD • by Nina Miller
Before daybreak, the rising tide breached the top steps as Manjula opened the basement door. Murky brown water lapped gently amongst schools of Legos and drowned Barbies. Her screams woke the household, whose night had been disturbed by the ravaging… Continue Reading
HER MARVELOUS MASQUERADE • by Rebecca Buller
At 6:42 a.m. she steps barefoot onto the bathroom scale. In two months, she gained five pounds. She presses a fist to her mouth and pretends not to cry. Underneath the sink she keeps her special pills for this type… Continue Reading
FLIGHT • by Annabelle Smith
Caesar Learns to Juggle Caesar is born in Kansas, 1932, where there is nothing and will never be anything. His future is limited to the dustbowl of the country, where he will die with a lungful of dirt and empty… Continue Reading
FATHER’S DAY • by Linda Mary Guyette
The years have been kind when I see George again. I’m wandering the carnival alone, licking the last bit of cotton candy stickiness from my fingers. It’s Father’s Day weekend, and Daniel and I have made the trek back to… Continue Reading