Wrapping Kevin It was his last…

After this last death, I lose at musical chairs. Rough strangers shove me toward the carved door. Feeling fierce, I yell, “Don't push me!” House racked with noise, smells, rushing, I turn the…

Thank christ for feminst theory and fat good natured shrinks and tall men who stand guard over me with real guns, real bullets.

The funeral was a blast. One helluva time. We all had the time of our lives. Well, all of us except Dominic. It pissed me off that Dominic didn’t have fun. After all, he was the center of attention. The whole day was about him, and we spared no expense

There are some, I am told, who never see the dead, though I am as yet unable to believe it.

None of us in the barn knew what to do about the lowing cows. Their slowly rising complaint started off as a half-hearted protest but soon gained in volume and unsettling portent.

Sands In Time by Julie Noble As surreptitious as the crab creeping sideways under your patient observation, the sun has inched its way round the sky, echoing exactly the rugged curve of the Bay, and is now preparing itself for the evening slide. In its rich,…

“Are you afraid?” he asked. “No,” she said. “I’m thrilled.” “Thrilled?” “Yes, I’m thrilled that something is happening to me. It’s been such a long time since anything has happened. I was getting really bored, but this is great.

We sat in a row on the long couch and no one's legs could reach the floor. Granddaddy took the first one the kid who no one knew and said to us "the rest of you stay put."

Now, these explosions announced, political bribes and propaganda weren't going to be enough to push things through. There would need to be survival from blunt force trauma and fear tactics, a relentless forward march

. . . at midnight three zombies and a vampire gather for a game of Texas hold ’em.

A friend of mine recently died and went to Heaven, or so I innocently thought. It was only when I received a letter a month later postmarked “The Island of Final Regrets” that I realized he was still in transit.

I want separate twilight a room with no candles, plates, phones or music a glass ceiling to smash when my head's full I want tiny hand-

Rowan’s arm burned and throbbed like the center of a neutron star as it went critical for minutes turned inside-out like hours. Standing in a wall, then huddled underneath the couch, she danced around the rim of consciousness, ripping at the seams of her

Lady Macbeth goes around moaning “out, out damned spot,” when a well-placed lick would have solved the problem immediately, with no unnecessary and heavy-handed dialogue. Once again, clumsy work.