Iris was a good girl. I liked her for Ike. Those two—so cute together. You’ve never seen two lovebirds more in love. I told my grandson he’d better take care not to lose a girl like that. “I know, Grandma. I know,”
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The Woman with Bougainvillea in Her Arms by Megan Swenson A Dish for Moonlight by Merri Andrew Neuropathy by Marita Mežroze Sludge by Zeinab Fakih A Small, Exquisite Gallery by Michael Loyd Gray
There was only the one painting. But a line formed around the block as soon as the sun peeked over the horizon. Feet shuffled and voices rose and fell. When it rained, umbrellas blossomed. Anticipation hung in the air like a pesky
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I left my hand in the other room. That happens sometimes—it just slides off the bone. I find my hand in the bed, strangled in a clot of covers. Fingers entombed in linen. I try to reattach it, but once the digits
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It was the wind that did it, and that Liam hadn’t had a moment alone for as long as he could remember. He was helping his child wee by the roadside when the night wind came up. The wind turned the poplar
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It took them three tries to kill the woman with bougainvillea in her arms. She was a nuisance—she left papery-pink petals everywhere, which the wind would take until there were pieces of her drying and crumbling all over town. One man claimed
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This story may be triggering for readers who are sensitive to pregnancy and loss. People marvel at doctors and compare them to God. She thinks otherwise. Doctors are closer compared to the modern-day executioner. There may not be a guillotine in sight
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The house was not haunted, that much was obvious, but still she found the teeth. Specifically, chips of teeth that would turn up on her writing desk or on the floor. They were polished like beach glass. The wild turkey running down
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The mill was attached to the side of the stone house. It wheeled, rumbling in the downpour, scooping through the river. Inside the house, a child crouched in the kitchen. “Daddy,” she whispered. Weslan stood at the sink, listening to the pounding
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Past the woods and the lowlands lay The Warrens, where shy but dangerous folk lived in the foothills of the Scandes. And past the hills, the mountains bristled, propping up the sky on the Swedish side. Now Kani could only see layers
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