Your hand on my chair, nudging it back and forth ever so slowly while you peer over my shoulder to examine the chart on my computer.
If He Fell by Kathryn Kulpa
Once there was a boy who fell off a mountain. An accident, or not-accident; a leap into air. Did he wait for someone to catch him?
Head Games by Jessica Klimesh
As her mother primps for a night out, Margaret watches, waiting for the moment she knows is coming, the moment when her mother will say, “Time to put my face on!” Like it’s a game.
Instructions for Leaving a Human Being Outdoors by Blake Pierpoint
Choose a table that does not rock. Test each corner with your palm. She cannot steady herself now; the table must do it for her.
Keepsake by Ali McLafferty
Every Sunday my father carried my mother’s head to the front porch and set it on the table to enjoy the sunshine.
Springtime In Happyland by S.A. Greene
Winter had been brutal and we didn’t venture outside, but now the cherry trees were blossoming and the air was soft and hopeful, and the heads appearing above garden gates and mailboxes were smiling us along our way to the park.
A mutiny in small parts by Sophie Purchase
My first, great crime took place in my grandmother’s living room; all swirling patterns and light thrown through lace curtains like the scatter of a disco ball, it gave the place a certain drama which suited me; cut.
Adam Stuart Moxley Was the Love of My Life by Anika Carpenter
When Alfie asked where I wanted to go on honeymoon I told him Winnipeg, said I wanted to French kiss in front of Manitoba Museum’s plesiosaur fossil. I lied.
Thursday Was the Sharpest Day by Brent Waggoner
Monday is for vacuum cleaners, tubes clogged with hair and paperclips. Tuesdays (two-days) people remember that they only had one copy of the will.