SHORT STORIES
To view the original online publications of my short fiction, click on the images below.
“I wonder what might sprout from his tears if Ben cried. Something exotic that has to be kept moist all the time, like a minuscule orchid, maybe.”
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“The day she came, we were restless and expectant though we didn’t know why. It started with the older ones. They had sensed something and their agitation trickled down to the rest and made us spill the milk and miss stitches in our sewing.”
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“At night, I wait for him. The moon seems to follow me. The windows have no curtains. The moon is there, slinking around the kettle, or in a basin of black water. I drink it in my cup. He doesn’t come.”
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“I get a tattoo of the fruit that killed my sister. It’s on my hip, just below the waistline of my boys’ Levi’s. The lines are red, insinuating the outer form and the bejeweled cavern. I get it done by the mall with my two gold-haired friends who are like vapid, giggling handmaids. They belonged to my sister but they follow me around now for lack of anything better to do.”
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“In his dreams there are bodies speaking with tongues that curl like smoke, their language fluid and harsh. His eyes are vacant. He grips me by the throat, his thumb on my windpipe. I thrash and the dog starts to bark. The sound brings the soul back into his eyes, then he falls on top of me, crushing me, and weeps into my hair. I lie still and wait. It is better when he cries than when he does not.”
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