“It came out positive.”
It would seem so. The news was surprising to Ruth because Sandra was old. Not Betty White old, but easily old enough to be Ruth’s mom.
“What did Jim say?”
I watch them together, though I’m supposed to be in my room. They’re sitting too close. Cigarette smoke trails in front of my eyes as I sit huddled in the corner.
I’m lying down on the bed. Naked. Carefree. One hand thrown carelessly behind my head propping me up. The other playing with my belly button or any small indent on my skin within a comfortable radius.
On a sunny winter morning, I heard the honking of my school bus; dressed up in my new uniform I hastened to get to my first day in the assembly. Standing in the last queue I noticed a woman in a white cloak
She ran away from home, and Pastor Bruce was dismayed after talking with her mother. Her mother said she’d been sullen for the last month or so, and even the school nurse called once.
Native Americans refer to her as Skuda-ku-mooch or Ghost Witch. Tales that my, great grandmother would tell, entertaining my sister, Adelynn, and I late on autumn nights.
I wasn’t comfortable here, I should have just said “no!” The house was abandoned, and from what Kelly confessed to me while driving here, made me angry.
Mary Lewis, twelve-years-old, is awoken in the night to the sound of pecking at her window. When she investigates she finds a crow perched upon the sill. To her amazement, it speaks to her,
Darien was learning how to live again. There was no reason to deny it. She knew what she was. After all the nights, waking up in the woods with bloody hands, but it was getting easier. She found the right foods that didn?t hurt her stomach, did Yoga, and she was back to her job after 6 months of leave for ?exhaustion.? No one seemed the wiser.
The hot pain in May’s left side woke her. For a moment she was paralyzed, only able to flick her tongue across parched lips. She tasted salt from dried tears.
TRUE!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them
My Daughter’s Best Friend by Michelle Reynolds “Here you go Missy.” Elizabeth hears her daughter say as she enters the kitchen. Brooklyn is sitting
Emily Bradley wanted a smart phone for her tenth birthday. Her mother and step-father had been reluctant to give her one because they felt it was a luxury for a child to have
I was born with a birthmark that looked like a bruised flower. It trailed along the left side of my face, from hairline to where neck and shoulder met. I grew accustomed to open stares, sidelong glances, and children being chastised for pointing.
Three elderly women stood huddled in a corner of the funeral home, whispering and glaring at the deceased’s wife.
It came one evening when everyone else was sleeping. It crawled in the dark outside, hissing along the night winds that were shaking leaves and branches of the big mango tree standing tall a few footsteps from our house.
“Are you going to be my new daddy?” she asked directly.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking down at the flowery dress squirming beside him on the edge of the living room couch. “I like your mom, but to get married you have to really, really like each other.”