The Cheese Grater scrapes my bare arms and legs. I squeeze through the limestone crevice and my skin goose pimples. Sucking in a breath, I exhale steam. It's a muggy, hot September, but the caves are
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Short Fiction
Old Age Blues
It was Yolkov who bought Hanna's ticket on the overnight flight from Warsaw to JFK. Hair streaked with gray, she wore the blue dress purchased on sale for eighteen dollars.
"Better to fly late ... [+]
"Better to fly late ... [+]
Short Fiction
What Happened That Night
Josh is gone, but I see him everywhere. Even now, it's his reflection I see in the puddle as the storm brings me back to reality. I shiver. Seems I'm always cold these days. I need to get my shit
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Night of the Strawman
I had to have it.
It waited for me in the night as I summoned courage.
Soon, it would be my trophy.
The scarecrow stood, a stark silhouette against the light from a rear window ... [+]
It waited for me in the night as I summoned courage.
Soon, it would be my trophy.
The scarecrow stood, a stark silhouette against the light from a rear window ... [+]
Short Fiction
The Brick House
Every time I walked by the house it haunted me. The run-down brick house at the top of a hill, window frames rotting, trim crusted with flaked paint. It showed no evidence of life, no evidence of
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Ghost Writers
There's a relief that comes with revealing things down to their minutiae; small gasps of relief make space in the bedroom for the proverbial elephant. I do have a good husband. He's the kind that does
...
[+]
Short Fiction
The Sweet Striper
The children don't understand.
The sweets they pine for are not squeezed from the machine with stripes intact. No—they must be painted on, by hand, with so much care. It is almost unimaginable, the ... [+]
The sweets they pine for are not squeezed from the machine with stripes intact. No—they must be painted on, by hand, with so much care. It is almost unimaginable, the ... [+]
Short Fiction
For Seven Years
Each morning his face flushed as he remembered the boy's words, "I want that shovel. It's just like yours." And each morning he fell to his knees, extended his arms, then plunged his hands into the
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Summer of 1985
The cool breeze drifts in from the Pacific Ocean through the banana plant leaves. Shadows dance across the pastel pallet of the bedspread; the charcoal nude woman looks over her shoulder. Jesus
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Butterflies
Seven-year-old Isabella Thompson pressed her hands into the cool, moist dirt of her grandfather's garden. She peeled away the surface like an old scab. Beneath, a reddish-brown earthworm squirmed –
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Castrapitheca - City of the Ape
To call this elegant metropolis "The City of the Ape" does it a considerable disservice, but it is impossible to avoid. Every time we speak of something being as old as the Ape, we reaffirm the
...
[+]
Short Fiction
The Tiger Talk
Royals Primary has the second grade corralled into the gym.
"What you want to do," I tell the kids, "is draw a mask that looks a lot like your face. As close as you can get it, except we're going ... [+]
"What you want to do," I tell the kids, "is draw a mask that looks a lot like your face. As close as you can get it, except we're going ... [+]
Short Fiction
Glacial Motion
August brought with it a new easy-swallow scheme by a new self-improvement mentor. Luna Rojas had measured out her life with the likes of them – detoxes, spiritual awakenings, fad diets. She craved
...
[+]
Short Fiction
When No Cats are Gray
Through the weeping household stalked a small black cat—just past kittenhood, and more gamine than gangly. She darted past the skirts of a grieving wife as the woman buried her face in a
...
[+]
Short Fiction
Man on the Doorstep
There was a man on the doorstep, all leatherette shoes and easy iron trousers. When I say doorstep I mean the pavement between the threshold and the hazard lines of a busy junction.
His head, too ... [+]
His head, too ... [+]
Short Fiction
Truth, Justice, and the American Way
Once you become visible, it's hard to disappear into the shadows again, but Hank White was doing his level best. His life depended on it. People looked right through you when you were flipping
...
[+]
Short Fiction
The Brighter Light
I was chasing my little brother through the park at dusk. The whole park was filled with restless families waiting for the fireworks to start. My brother halted in his grass-stained diaper. "God
...
[+]