I read somewhere that we’re made of stardust; that the far corners of the dead cosmos climb into our lungs when we breathe in for the first time, and nest inside our wire-frames every time after. Carbon, they call it. And our bones radiate the stuff long after our meat has grown stale and our …
Loveliness
A bloom of ladybugs is called a loveliness, I think as a tear streaks across my face like a firework scream in the open, July sky. A loveliness. My mom bought a swarm of them once. Let them loose on a golden chain tree bejeweled with aphids. Turned the right way, those green lice hummed …
Bagel’s Blessing
Nothing had knocked the water bottle over. Katrina was rolled on her side, staring in the direction of her nightstand and fighting to fall asleep, when the bottle threw itself off. The cap was unscrewed and the last bit of spilled water sat on the surface of the carpet, slowly sinking in before her mind …
The Heavens As My Witness
It was golden hour in Lemming park and the air was ripe with a honey-blush glow. The sun had just climbed out from the hillside’s crest as the last remnants of night withdrew into the soft shadow cutouts of the rustling trees, the squat hedges and the lonesome water tower, all white and smooth like …
Fresh Bite: Part 2
The moonlight glowed off of Nana's white hair as she hunched in a patch of leafy greens. Her long, knobby fingers wrapped around a bundle of leaves. With a tug, the plant ripped out of the earth leaving a deep pockmark. "Macauley,” she said as she peeled back the cold, damp earth enclosing the rutabaga. …
Fresh Bite: Part 1
Tonight, the spray can clattered like a warning. The trolls had to work fast; the train would start rolling any moment. Mac ran a blue hand over the train car and got a feel for it. Smooth and sun-baked despite the night air, a solid pang to the palm. Nothing like those paint-eater concrete slabs …
Queen of Hearts: The Murder of Cynthia Rearden
Cynthia Rearden Her wedding dress was ready but she would never get the chance to walk down the aisle. On June 20, 1999, thirty-one year old Cynthia was ready for a night at the bar. She had walked to Hayloft Tavern because her car was broken down, but with a leather jacket over her little …
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