It was pretending to be his wife again; two feet on the stairs, the other six on the walls. “Come out, Ben. Please!” It did her voice too.
Dean Clayton Edwards writes in a caravan in the South of France.
The suicide lay on the bed beside his favorite novel opened to a highlighted passage he felt would clearly explain his reasons.
Matt Crowley sleeps soundly only when his watchtower of books stands sentinel at his bedside.
Just sayin’, I was hungry and looked all over for those plums you bought. Didn’t see any, so I ate your birthday cake instead. My bad.
Mike Serpa apologizes to William Carlos Williams.
Eyes wild with delight, the delight that only freedom brings, she hollered, “I have danced with the devil, and he can’t dance worth a shit.”
Hayley Whitworth (@hayleywhitworth) loves these tiny pieces of fiction.
He bought a camera to see how he’d look with eyes closed. Memory full, all the same pose.
The receipt was the only paper left on the table.
Joseph Dante lives in Florida and exists anywhere else.