Your Daily Bread by Elise Blackwell
The smell of bread told me the new bakery had finally opened, and I followed it and then, much more slowly, the long line of other gluten-tolerant people to the counter.
Accordion by Lynne Barrett
“Pol-ka,” Tom breathes, and his fingers move. Janet leans over him. He lies, arms open, tubes in his nostrils and the back of one hand, a man being played by machines.
A hole inside you, growing by Christopher M. Drew
You stand naked in front of the mirror and see her image in your reflection. Long hair. Dark skin stretched over your hips.
Cry to the Moon by Sandra Arnold
When Tiffany was an hour old her father carried her to the top of the highest hill on his land.
Vampire by Jeff Friedman
“Stop biting me,” I said—scratching a new welt on my neck. She must have bitten me again while I was napping on the couch.