by James Sennett chair was not Bonnie’s. How could it be? None of the telltale slouching evident in the faded cushions made of crushed flowers of indiscriminate species. Fitting just so for the visitor to lounge for a bit before taking the money of the neighbor you hated for stealing your recipe of some pie or other. Like it mattered anyway.
by Frank Scozzari The icy water had been rising steadily for an hour now, and despite her best efforts, Ingrid could no longer hold on. The waterline had breached her chest and then her shoulders and then her chin. Then the force of the water, a thousand pounds of pressure…
by Bobbi Sinha-Morey By the snowy river, its surface of china blue, she lived in a mobile home, outside her door wind chimes of teak and bone. The strong one in her family, taking care of her mother and two younger sisters long after her father had gone. The scent…