Stories tagged childhood

How Bittie Betina Learned to Fly

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Because she is so little and there is so little to do, Bittie Betina spends some mornings dropping bits of colored thread through the cracks in the floor.

cake tin rusted

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the farmhouse of your childhood lies

Color Wheel

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I remember the tan guinea pig, dead of dehydration. Through the wire bars of her cage I viewed her body. She lay stiff on her side, stretched out, as if in her guinea-pig dream she had been running through grassland, open and close to the sky.

Old Houses

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The rocking chair will bite your toes.

The Patterns of the Rails

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The gel is cold against my bare legs and bare feet, but I listen to the woman and try to do what it is she wants me to do. She asks me to pretend like I am bicycling in the air, and I lean back on the squishy mat and rotate my legs. She asks me to kick.

Beatnik Blonde

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everything plus zero stays the same


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“Well, there you go. Jesus won't let you drown.” They all looked at each other in agreement as one of them said this. I looked all over the pool room. I didn't see Him. Through tears and in between sobs I told them so.

from something now comes then

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standing hereknee deep in daydreams watching the day sky changepinks and bluesmelt with smooth yellow huesif i could only tastethissunset taffyridingat night in my uncle's convertiblewatching the…


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My sister, Bonnie, is busy with the dishes as I enter the kitchen; I toss the mail I was sorting through onto the table and look around for Sophie, my four-year-old daughter. "Bonnie, isn't she ready…

Right in the Back

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I loved baseball and still do, but if you saw me at eleven years old you would not mistake me for that kid over there, the one with even an ounce of talent. Mine you’d measure in atoms.

Why God was Vovka`s follower

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Stalin and sex. These S&S were taboo. We knew nothing about. Paradox... no-one can answer ... (190 words)

Riposi in Pace.

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It was too young to be love. We were 5, a buzz-cut me, and you, plated with babyteeth

The Stay Apparatus

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I'm upside down on my hands with my eyes to the drain, when the bottom of the tub shakes free of the rest of the bathroom and starts sinking. I descend with it into the dark water, past the submerged pipes, down into a bubbly abyss.

Cory's Carousel

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There was an ownership about the makeshift carnival. There was a therapy there.

In transit

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Clare sits bolt upright in the hard plastic chair, warily tracking every passer-by. In her lap, Kim’s hair is damp with sweat, dark blonde curls melting against her flushed cheeks. Clare absently strokes the length, soothing both of them.