The bathroom is cold, the stalls cramped together. Heather hears the door bang open just as she finishes, and the walls to the stall shake as the newcomer slams herself into the toilet beside Heather’s. Heather frowns as she exits and moves toward the sink. Sniffles echo from the stall that the newcomer has taken. … Continue reading Conversation in a Bathroom
fiction-writing
Re-Entry
Wayne stands in line at the service desk of his local box store. He bounces from heel to toe as he waits and fidgets with his mask, then remembers he shouldn’t touch it and rests his hand at his side. The lone woman working the service desk chomps gum (perhaps thinking her mask hides it?) … Continue reading Re-Entry
Impostor Syndrome
I sit at my computer biting my nails. It's a bad habit I fall into when I'm highly anxious. I scroll through the screen reading submission guidelines and articles in Literary Journals and magazines. What is it about reading other people's work that makes one feel inadequate? I stare at the glossy photos of the … Continue reading Impostor Syndrome
The Mishaps of Don and Hank
Don has a problem. He bursts into his kitchen through the raspy screen door and races over to his wall phone. (Yes, he still has one of those.) At the phone, he stops and walks back to the door, looks out, and yanks at his chin. He walks back to the phone. Don picks up … Continue reading The Mishaps of Don and Hank
Broken Memory
Every day he arrives, hooks his cane over the end of her bed, and settles into the chair beside her. He always brings her treats-- candy, flowers, cupcakes, cards written in shaky handwriting she feels obligated to recognize. Some days she sits in a chair by the window; other days her frail limbs are wrapped … Continue reading Broken Memory
The Chosen
Adam sits in the chair in the gray holding cell with his hands against his knees. He keeps his eyes closed and listens to the movements out in the hall. “Stand up,” says a distant voice. “Hands out.” Chains jangle. “Stick out your tongue… clean.” “Move forward,” another voice says. Chains jangle again. A cell … Continue reading The Chosen
Nighttime Terrors
Darla noticed him watching her while she was at the gas pump. Beneath the flaring blue lights of the overhang, she caught his reflection in the back window of her car as he walked behind her. Black eyes. Hat low across his forehead. He darted a look at her as he passed between the pumps. … Continue reading Nighttime Terrors
Seeking Prose 