I fear for her and I fear her and I fear what kind of person I’ll become when screams in the night won’t lift me from my chair.
I couldn’t very well leave it there. It had a mate somewhere and whether it had been lost or abandoned was not for me to know.
It’s that kind of day where you pray for a whisper of a breeze to kiss the beads of sweat that sting your eyes. You don’t move a muscle, lying on the dock, fingers trailing in tepid water. The lump of a secret too huge to swallow grows in your throat until you think you’llContinue reading “There’s a Fist-Sized Hole in the Kitchen Window”
Terrence had never been one to just suck a lollipop. No sooner had he popped it in his mouth than his teeth were clamping down, chipping shards as sharp as glass.
I use my fingers, letting the white slip down into the bowl, leaving the glistening golden globes one at a time cradled in my hand. So easily done—what once was whole has now been twain.
You’re on the ice. On a lake. In a car. Imagine the ice cracking and the car sinking into the deep, dark, deathly cold water. Try to breathe. Stop imagining. Try to breathe.
Dad gives no signs of noticing, pecking away at his laptop on the well-worn sofa in the family room that’s been more solitary room this week.
“Sheesh, Suzette’s been strutting around with a chip on her shoulder today!”
“You’re telling me! Acting like a big fish in a small pond lately.”
Three minutes can be an eternity. Forty-five breaths. One hundred and eighty seconds. Two hundred and ten heartbeats.
Somewhere in the dusk a bird begins its goodnight song, the tune more mournful now, more wistful now. What does he know?