Stories tagged sleep

You're Talking in Your Sleep

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Each morning, she rode her bicycle up north to her job at the pawn shop, which sold hot radios, transmitters, procured from the bodies of dead grunts. Chao ban, Chao ban, I heard her say to the old village women as her bicycle became a black blur upon the

Butcher Knife

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When I was young I used to carry a butcher knife to bed. My grandmother placed it in my small hands before tucking me in.

Spiders on the Wall

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Her eyes creaked open in the misty morning sun seeping through my dusty window. From her facial expression, I could tell she thought I was watching her sleep, but really I had just woken up and coincidentally looked over at the exact moment she did. I decided against …

Struggle Has Ended

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Shh! What? The downstairs neighbors. They’re at it again. What? It’s the weekend? They’re both home? Oh. Remember? I think so. Sort of. Shh! What’s that grunting? He must be doing the heavy lifting. Sounds like he’s hurt

Wall and Key

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I couldn't sleep so I got up and put on my robe and my work boots. I went out to the shed and got the rusty old sledge hammer.


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“Celebrities know about it—the Scientologists, anyway. That’s really all they are, just a bunch of moderately talented people who went to three times as many casting calls as their peers because they never got tired and gave up. Oh, and the Amish pe

Guai a sognare

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eyes, slow-waking, broach the young day's sun

Quickly The World Blurs

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On the drive home they are silent, like diffident strangers sharing a bus bench, though sometimes she rests her hand lightly on his leg, and when she does that his arm brushes against hers as he switches gears.

It is Midnight

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It is midnight in Utah, but I can’t tell. It always looks like midnight in a cave.


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There are cat whiskers grazing my face. I can’t open my eyes. I slide my hand under the sheets. It’s cool there. An impression. This is where she would be.


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and I wake with my hands full of night, saying –


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My son’s lived in my basement since his wife, two years ago, died of breast cancer...


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Her arms are always outstretched, sometimes as though cupping an invisible fragile object. Maybe in her dreams, she is carrying baby birds or engaged in some kind of circus act involving crystal balls or snow globes.


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I slide my hand under the sheets. It’s cool there. An impression. This is where she would be.

The Runner's Dream

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Have your pretty penny prepared for that one though, facial expression technology is costly.