Thorn Apple
Ruthanne stopped apologizing years ago.
Melancholy
The Phone
I can make it ring.
The Lighter
She watches the blue at the root of the flame.
The Final Meal
The room is cold. A hospital cold that lives in the walls.
The Last Mercy
Three flowers, a knife, and the burden of knowing what mercy costs.
Free-Fall Forward
She whispered it aloud. Her voice. Lower, gruffer.
The Voicemail
Forever now. Somehow that made it matter less.
The Acknowledgement
Between panes of glass, choice slips away.
Haley Alone
Nothing but a trail of broken bone and rotten flesh.
Lies
“Why are you late?”
Before Dinner
‘Tonight will be perfect’, she thought, snipping an errant shoot and placing the bonsai tree on the table’s centre.