Short Story
The Body in the Snow
Brandy’s rigor mortis should have passed hours ago, but she’s stiff as a board. She’s impossible to carry, but Candace won’t leave her behind. It’s too cold for them to have another screaming match, so Dani sits in the snow, staring at Brandy’s body, trying to figure out what to do.
By Rielle Hein3 years ago in Fiction
Lost But Not Gone
He didn't lose me, so much as I chose to be lost. It is a thing that he must understand about our relationship, a thing I'm not sure he has a full concept of yet. But in time he will learn, and on that day I'm sure he will find me again, exactly where I've been left. Exactly out of sight.
By Alexander McEvoy3 years ago in Fiction
Coming Home
I saw your kids today. You’d be amazed at how much they have grown. Max is nearly six feet tall already. Fourteen years old, and six feet tall. He’s a great basketball player too, the best in his school. He looks just like you, you know. Same smile, same eyes. He’s even got that same dimple on his chin.
By Cathy holmes3 years ago in Fiction
Simone's Duppy
[Author's Note: duppy means ghost in Jamaican Patois] Simone never like to be alone, but that’s how she spend much of her time. After walking home from school, she would play alone in her room until someone else come home. Her mother, Andrea, did work at the patty shop, down the hill in the village. Basil only did work some of the time. Most of the time him was just lookin’ likkle work, or so him did say. Most times him was spending Andrea’s money down the rum bar.
By Randy Baker3 years ago in Fiction
Stretching Poor (aka. The Work House)
The last night you spend with your children is the most precious, and the most horrifying few hours of your life. Being poor is stretching. Stretching every penny, stretching your luck, stretching the goodwill of others. All to stretch out the survival of your children, if not yourself.
By L.C. Schäfer3 years ago in Fiction
Nellie's Nightmare
I pace the floors, looking for a way out of this windowless maze, coming upon dead end after end. Holding my candle high, I inspect all the nooks and crannies. I moan as I realize I’ve been locked in some sort of crypt. I can see the etchings on the walls, displaying where a tomb would be. I look closer, and the engravings show me the year of the burial of each resting place.
By Mother Combs3 years ago in Fiction
