Stories tagged dead

Dead Crows

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The night my husband became a transvestite, crows started dying. They fell from the sky like black umbrellas, hitting the ground with a thud. A rainstorm of birds. I figured it was a virulent strain of bird flu that drifted into the clouds and killed them

Why'd You Come Back?

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But there, up the street, just coming into the corner of the window, someone was in the middle of the road. Walking literally down the middle, dragging one leg like it was heavy or broken, carving a fat line next to the skinny one the good one made.


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The sun browbeat me relentlessly, like a one-eyed judge with an unforgiving heart.


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I paused in case she said more. Then, “He’s very faint but he wants to talk.” She leaned forward, chin almost resting on the grey-haired woman in front of her. “Tell him to shout.”


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"I expect 50% of the agreed fee. In cash.” I dropped the envelope at the designated spot and parked up the street.

Wrong Nail Polish

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Is it any wonder I squeaked?

From The Darker Blog Of Charles M. Shulz

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Patti, wish I'd the balls to make it with you ... but all I can ever do is draw

Buddhas Don't Drive Hyundais

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We wish for Santa, we celebrate the birth of Christ, but no one would ever expect that the happy Buddha would come to celebrate Christmas Eve. Papa had been given this designated title for…

A Moment's Change

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Then he spoke of her cowardice, and from within, her heart fluttered and a soft heat branched out across her chest, face, and stomach pits and she felt imprisoned by that room.

Him and his Father

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Snow was falling. People passed by the window and wore large coats. Inside, Alex stood in front of the window and watched.

And her child

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The mother was happy, though. She was happy because she could make him some soup and then she could feed it to him in bed.

The Ghosts in the Meeting

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No one had told the newer tenants that the dead would be given votes, and they were in an uproar: it wasn’t legal; it wasn’t fair; it was creepy.

Dead Relatives Day

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“I would not eat that cake if I was you,” Uncle Marty says, clinging now to the tire swing and panting like he is out of breath. “You know what it done to me.”

The mannequins are only playing dead

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at nightthe mannequins leave their glass prisons and hunt owls in the forest***sometimes they dance a slo-mo tarantella in a clearingbone-white …


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