Fiction

“I missed those late summer days. Messy, lazy, tired. Hair sticking to the sweat on my flushed face in the morning.”

“There’s a stray dog living under my porch. I know because I can feel the eyes watching me when I take out the trash.”

“The Runner rises at dawn. If she does not run at dawn, then who is she?”

“Up the walls. Across the fence. Over the windowsills.”

The desk face was dusty, fading the color of the cherry wood that her grandfather had used to make it.

My pupils are rudely awoken by the sun. Moving is simply not an option at the moment,

He just couldn’t find the darkness. Seaman Johnson squeezed his eyes shut.

St. Paul’s sat on the street corner of Edina and Eve. It had always been a formidable monstrosity throughout my life, a form of elegance that was so self contradictory and angry that I could hardly understand it.

The skyline looks so small and insincere from up here. All of the lights from all of the windows look like distant stars.

The operation room was more intimidating than she was expecting. Yet despite her agonizing feeling of anxiety, she had to admit that the room was perfect.

It was painful to stand under the lamppost. The light feels soft to my eye, but just a gaze burns my heart with emotions that I simply don’t want to deal with yet.