by Gil Hoy On those windswept weekday mornings, asphalt driveway crusted with snow, my father would get up early, put on his secondhand boots and an old coat, and exit through our front door into the blue hour to get the motor running. That fifteen-year-old station wagon would stall if…
by Michael C. Keith Some tortures are physical And some are mental But the one that is both Is dental. –Ogden Nash Amanda was new to Parkside Elementary and Stephen had paid little attention to her until she stood up to answer a question put to the class. It was…
By Meryl Healy My wavy red curls lie in a pile on the floor; my bloody gold crown lies in a small wooden bowl, and my new brown loafers were ripped from me—in the same way that the bastard Nazis took Mama and Papa. My forearm is crimson and throbbing…