Three minutes can be an eternity. Forty-five breaths. One hundred and eighty seconds. Two hundred and ten heartbeats.
At her touch the raspy scales constricted and coiled, tensed into an anxious lowercase e.
Somewhere in the dusk a bird begins its goodnight song, the tune more mournful now, more wistful now. What does he know?
The Airbnb was quaint and quirky and we blew in with the wind, strewing makeup bags and wine coolers across the place like our signature: four best friends, there to whoop it up.
Life is full of all these tiny instants that you can’t undo. Any given second can cause life-long consequences.
Angelina’s not worried about the letters anymore. She’s floating in the swimming pool leaking crimson ribbons that swirl like steeping tea.
Open the door, for Pete’s sake, because this is real life and it’s the pizza delivery you ordered, not your Prince Charming.
He had gone away years before. Away, as in not there, not where Miranda was, not around when she needed him—or someone, anyone—to be in her corner.
Squeaks and screeches and haunting calls of “who-hoo-oooo” spoke amongst themselves in the language of the night, exclusive food chain negotiations I had no desire to be party to.
He gets so sick of those people with their happy lives and their normal jobs on solid ground. He gets so angry when he’s seen by no one, moving state to state leaving no trace, Mr. Inconsequential mattering to nobody nowhere.