Dorothy by Andrew Graham Martin
Who told you there could be ghosts in your closet? That you have the same number of fingers as toes? That we live in a lovely and humid place called Indianapolis, Indiana?
The Tenth Testicle by S.A. Greene
When a third testicle dropped, he asked her to enlarge his trousers so he could house everything more comfortably and she said which century do you think we’re living in?
Appa’s Tenth Day by Vijayalakshmi Sridhar
In wet clothes, I am sitting cross-legged on the floor—the fan of Amma’s nine-yards grazing her legs—calves with bulging blue veins and heels that are cracked like a desert floor within my viewing range.
From The Vantage Point of Ten, It All Might Be Possible by Elana Lavine
That desperate summer I have the ten-year-old girl campers, fifth grade now behind them like sheathed knives in their belts. What was that picture on your phone? they ask.
Pineapple Love by Rebecca Klassen
Mum dropped a chunk into her mouth; eyes rolled back like when she eats Milk Tray.