TRAIN TO SOMEWHERE • by Rebecca T Powell
I wanted to shove them into the tracks. I’d lost count of how long it’d been, but I was too conscious of the touches on my body; the scrape of an arm here, the brush of a leg there and… Continue Reading
I wanted to shove them into the tracks. I’d lost count of how long it’d been, but I was too conscious of the touches on my body; the scrape of an arm here, the brush of a leg there and… Continue Reading
“He’s coming tonight to see you. Can you believe it?” My best friend’s green eyes bore into mine, her face so close I can see every freckle on her nose, smell the cotton candy on her breath. The delight she… Continue Reading
At first, there is only one big brother Stu snoring and crying on her couch. One Stu flinging boxers to a musky, moist heap. Only one Stu who forgets to wipe his shavings off the sink, and delete his search… Continue Reading
As I walked along the street toward the apartment building that my family lived in for the last decade, a US Army truck rumbled by. When the truck was past me, I saw several white and a few black faces… Continue Reading
Lupita snuck a photo of the high priest straightening his tiara. The old man looked like he was wearing the Pope’s hand-me-downs. He teetered in red shoes, wearing a golden stole and a gray furred cape. The cape wasn’t Catholic,… Continue Reading
Pat Carlisle knew for a long time that her sister Rose Marie was a clairvoyant fake, a marketing genius, and a master of manipulation. The Psychic Rose found quick success by utilizing a classy website with a chat button. For… Continue Reading
I opened the curtains. Charlie, in his giant recliner, flinched, as if I’d thrown a bucket of water in his face. “What’re you doing here?” “Letting in the light, bro,” I said. “It’s good to see you, too.” Charlie wore… Continue Reading
I am hungry because Wendy told me I can’t eat before she draws my blood. My waiting room overlooks the blue Pacific. I had asked Wendy several times if I could come to visit her here, but she was evasive… Continue Reading
I sit in front of the blank canvas. There’s only a bright sun in its top right corner. My brush sits full of lemon yellow paint, but a dark tempest dominates my mind. I get gooseflesh as I replay Chuck’s… Continue Reading
You carry his phone in your pocket. Its weight, the closest you have now to holding his hand. Taking it out, you glance through his pictures, read his texts. The phone is still alive. To shut it down would be… Continue Reading