by Megan Vered I knew that Mom would not linger. My impression is that people die the way they live, and Mom was efficient. I called my siblings and all the grandchildren that lived nearby. “If you want to say good-bye, go. Now.” I called James and told her I could…
by Maureen Aitken That summer, when the lawns burst into flames, I packed some clothes and my Irish mythology books and rented a room from a farmer’s daughter in Jackson, Michigan. I was hired as an intern at a newspaper, where I wrote stories about a drought that scalded crops…
by Haley Kral Katie waved to her boyfriend, Jake, trying to signal him to get his car out from in view of the house. He had the headlights turned off, but there was still a chance of her parents hearing the engine or looking out to see the late model…
by Susan Knox The violinist, dressed in a scarlet satin gown, her ebony hair smoothed into a chignon, strides onto the stage. Close behind are the cellist and pianist in their graphite-gray suits and crimson ties. A fourth person enters, staying in stage shadows and carrying music for Brahms’ “Piano…
by Loren Stephens I moved to Los Angeles with my five-year-old son so that my ex-husband, a literary agent at the time, could take on some parenting responsibilities since he had no desire to travel across the country to Boston, which he had escaped after our divorce. I interviewed for…
by Kristin Lieberman On June 30, 1994, I returned home from brain surgery to insert a catheter into my mid-brain, the center of my brain, and drain a congenital cyst in my mid-brain—a cyst so large that I was in a wheelchair within a week of its discovery. My hair…
by Cécile Barlier I seem like a perfectly normal person. No one suspects I count wiggling worms as I go to bed instead of counting sheep. Oh! I know! This is not a good strategy! You’re thinking, “Why is she counting wiggling worms when she can count sheep like everyone…
by Cameron Burry Jensen Barnaby doesn’t like you. If there is one thing that he could say directly to you right now, it would be just that; he doesn’t like you, so stop acting like he will tolerate your incessant need for affirmation. Jensen Barnaby thinks that you’re vapid, odorous…
by Cyndy Muscatel Olivia couldn’t stay in bed. The silent coldness from the warm body next to her drove her out. It was past midnight as she crept down the stairs. The wind lashed against the French doors in her living room, whistling through the cracks. The sound was her…
by Nina Welding CHAPTER ONE At Esmee’s apartment, September 2012 Gerde rang the buzzer. Nothing. Once more. Still no answer. Esmee was never late for work. She always opened the bake shop and was usually standing behind the counter sipping her coffee when Gerde arrived. For years she had joked…