by Angela Santistevan
She couldn’t stop grinning. Unaware of the fact that she was, Katie also couldn’t stop singing. It was one of the songs the Sheriff liked so much, “Everyday it’s getting closer, mmm hmm, it’s getting closer, going faster than a roller coaster…” She couldn’t help herself, Katie was over the top on this one, she was practically bursting with anticipation. “What a day!” Katie had to get on her tiptoes to sit on her bike, after that it was cake, just balancing and pedaling. She didn’t concern herself at all about stopping and how that would all work out.
Continue reading Katie and Siciley V3: No Greater Love
by Grace Carpenter
He sits in front of her like some kind of Buddha, legs folded on the carpet, slightly protruding belly just visible through the folds of his loose shirt. She’s fond of that belly, the way it jiggles happily when he laughs and bounces around when he runs shirtless, jumping off cliffs or chasing her with a feather duster. His belly is playful and free. She needs that.
Continue reading Takeout
The therapist is nondescript. She sits in front of Lily, nondescript brown hair hanging limply around her nondescript eyes and cheeks. The ambivalent half-whisper that emerges from her exceedingly ordinary lips is monotone. Her figure is thoroughly average, as are her dress and shoes. The pad of paper in her hands is appropriately stock, and the handwriting upon it is perfectly indistinguishable from that of every other person in the universe.
Continue reading Lily Padded by Grace Carpenter
The street ahead is a maelstrom of tear gas, smoke, and muzzle flashes. Shouts and screams are intermingled with pops from small arms and flash-bangs. People are running through the smoke, back-lit by burning vehicles and buildings. They look like ghosts passing through a fog. I’m thinking of a scene from Danté.
Continue reading News Cycle