Scars by Suzanne Hicks
We were never young like the other neighborhood kids. We were old like we had our own house key and knew how to boil noodles that we ate for dinner.
Boilermaker by JW Goll
Butchie and I drive north on Water Street, heading into a sunrise that warns us to keep on our toes, this could be the day it all goes to hell.
A Girl Shaves Her Head by Ruth Joffre
One by one, the hairs grow back fuchsia and periwinkle, grow like thistle and sea urchins, surging back short as lichen and tall as sunflowers.
Odd Job Jane by Lorette C. Luzajic
Mission: to rid winter of imps and karakondžula. I had no idea what the sign meant, but I applied. I needed work.
Bittersweet by Lorette C. Luzajic
It was never easy going back. The gloom was as thick as the damask drapery, and their enormous dusty tassels seemed symbolic somehow, ornamental bonds.