Monthly Archives: March 2018

Broken Heart

Consciousness taps on the inside of my skull, but something pulls me back into a dream that isn’t mine. I’m in a room, foreign yet familiar. I want to leave, but I can’t. Dank air, ripe with mold, drifts across … Continue reading

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Halloween, crackers, dirty money, heirs and spares, folklore, robots, the looking glass, over the rainbow, and many other themes! 18 Themed Submissions Need more submissions? Check these out. 20 Free Writing Contests with CASH Prizes Paying Submissions  

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Kids Come First

This is one of my first flash fiction pieces, and it’s still one of my favorite. I identified seven individual forms. They used my uterus for a playground; my own miniature rugby team kicking the shit out of my insides, jockeying … Continue reading

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Growing Old

It’s a creaky, old house; low ceilings, uneven floors, not a speck of insulation, but I call it home. I will be here for many years, not because I have to, but because I want to. Not because I don’t … Continue reading

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Centerville (Part 2 of 2)

Centerville (part 1 of 2) “Shut up, you’re not real.” “Oh, I’m real, Lizzie. You just can’t see me… yet.” His bedroom name for me, our secret. The sheets drop from my trembling fingers. “Stay away from Sarah.” “You know … Continue reading

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Centerville (part 1 of 2)

If the lake doesn’t freeze tonight, sunrise will be ugly. We went out on the lake despite all the warnings. We went out for one thing─ food. It’s amazing at how fast the weather changed, like once the oven heated … Continue reading

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Things I say I’ll do this spring but know I won’t.

Garden. Damn you Pinterest and all your helpful ideas. Way to make me feel bad about myself. An herb garden is the first on my list of things I won’t plant. Shave my legs. Now before you go curling your … Continue reading

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South Dakota

  Things don’t change here. I live on the edge of nothingness, next to loneliness and despair. This is the plains of South Dakota, the farm where I grew up. I’m still here. I’m not sure why. My grandparents, a … Continue reading

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A Tree for Momma

I remember when Papa planted the acorn next to Momma’s grave. We was too poor for a headstone, and besides, Papa said a tree would be a living memory, a way to keep her alive, and every time we came … Continue reading

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