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She sold bottles of happiness at the marketplace. She woke up at dawn every morning to capture rays of happiness in the air. She would jump and let her fingers thread through each ray before sorting them into bottles. She always added a red ribbon to the tops of each…
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106521
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The sun becomes hot. She removes her skirt. She is left with a black bodice, with white laces, leggings underneath and a pair of twelve hole Doc Martens.
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25721
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“My name is Larry, and I am about to kill myself.” He says.
He reaches over to the small table, and picks up a handgun. He makes sure the clip is full, chuckling to himself about it.
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120952
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I am getting twisted like a cruller into the mess I have made of this morning and I am stretching the meaning of morning to way past its boundaries.
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A person is entitled to what she thinks and feels. A person can have all the thoughts and feelings she wants.
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Seventeen-year cicadas are the sometimes-singers that surprise spring with the ugliest mouths of all.
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Dave was in the market for a house. He stopped looking when he saw this listing:
4 Br. 3 bath. In-ground pool. 2 car detached garage. Ominous Portal to Hell. finished Basement. Some Demonic Undercurrents. Modern Kitchen. City Water. Appliances. Mus
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92300
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It was the woman, Mary Lou Compton, that he cared about. They would've been happily married by now if Bryce hadn't killed his Uncle Ned.
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We kidnap mothers of all sorts: old mothers, single mothers, young mothers (rarely), but we never do it for ransom. As a society we are adamantly opposed to the use of violence. Our mission is to remove mothers from environments they are not appreciated in, whether by their…
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. . . and the last thing you’ll smell will be new-cut pine.
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On some evenings, when I would sneak out of my room, I'd sit on the verandah and count the streetlights. I'd count the stars in the sky and trace the moon with the tip of my finger and consider how anyone could make it through the night when there were so
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I walked over to the counter and picked up the baby’s bottle. My mind slapped me in the face with the sound of a baby screaming. I dropped the bottle, and the memory shattered.
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Ruby never wailed. She was tougher than that. Her eyes were hot with tears, though. She dabbed a dishcloth along her cheeks. Ruby was 31 years old, broken down and drained. She married for love at first, got hate in the end, and lost more than…
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When Shorondra Reynolds was a baby we lived in a Baltimore brownstone on the edge of Pigtown. Just me and my mother, when there were no single mothers, just Adele’s mother or Mary’s mama, or Kiki’s madear and their like. It was a time when a five year-old
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What was ruined now – truly ruined, and not just fraying at the edges like everything else – was the act of reading novels. Certain stretches of our hero’s life had been defined by fiction; he’d learned to read English in a country where little English wa
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