by Lee Martin
Over the next few weeks, a series of strange and unsettling incidents occurred. On more than one night, Glory was jarred from sleep by angry shouts coming from across the street.
by Benjamin Thomas
There’s a piano player in the restaurant on the night Zoe tells you she’s pregnant.
by Gita M. Smith
Whenever someone asks me, “So, what do you do?” I like to say, “I am a crash test dummy tech for the National Highway Traffic Safety folks.”
by Cady Vishniac
A dead ringer for Josey. She sneezes as she walks into the pharmacy, and I look up from the newspaper I’m not supposed to be reading.
by Amanda Kabak
Now that Kate was safely out of the way—silenced permanently in a corner plot with a view of the freeway—the pedigreed vultures swooped in.
by Alice Hatcher
Marylou was breaking it off with the human race once and for all, leaving the whole miserable lot for good, and this time for real.
by Douglas W. Milliken
The only work he could find was at the truckers’ paradise on the north side of town where the main drag reverts into a numbered highway.
by Carol Malkin
Sara had selected the young girl, and Teddy and Sara had trailed her from the noisy waterfront club.
by Alexander Weinstein
It was Rocket Night at our daughter’s elementary school, the night when parents, students, and administrators gather to place the least-liked child in a rocket and shoot him into the stars.
by Hilary Dean
You think Fine Arts is going to be a bird degree and then you have to take classes all through the summer and talk about art until you want to kill yourself and also everyone else.