Recent Stories
The hook slipped neatly through the meat of my daughter's cheek, parting skin and sinew like a fin through still water.
She grinned around it, teeth pink, tongue pushing against the gleaming metal. The barb jutted from her upper jaw like an extra canine.
The lizard, Lunnie, clung with tiny claws to Bron's ham-like shoulder.
"Heroes and their plot armor!" she meeped indignantly.
I had almost become accustomed to the stench of sickness, horrible as it was, but I could never accept the sight of my small granddaughter perched bedside as she clutched her mother's limp hand. Nezra's brow was furrowed, eyes squinted shut as her lips mouthed breathy words.
"Nezra?" I set clean laundry at the end of the bed. "What are you doing?"
The other guy at the hotel bar was the friendly type, grey at the temples, with the stocky blue-collar build of a man who never lifted a barbell in his life, but could still bench-press me over his head, just the same.
"Bill Butcher," he said, extending a meaty hand. I shook it and gave him my name.
I am almost fourteen years old the day I kill my grandmother.
by Erin Strubbe
Published on May 28, 2020
by Michael W Cho
Published on May 27, 2020
by Beth Cato
Published on May 26, 2020
by Danny Macks
Published on May 25, 2020
by Alexis Ann Hunter
Published on May 22, 2020
by Indigo Smithson
"Mommy!"
The bedroom door opens.
Published on May 21, 2020
