by Amy Montemarano
Perhaps the surest sign of her state of indignity was the crotch of her
pantyhose, torn and stained between her splayed knees. What was the point of
wearing stockings anyway, over those old, blue-grey legs -- to make them
by Annette Aryanpour
The street light caressed his face. He was beautiful, but that night they
had grown apart a couple of inches more and a pretty face could not fix it.
She broke into a silent, violent cry. If only I could take everything back,
she thought, the first word that set everything off and all the dirt that
by Jan Hodgman
The Buddhist nun had lived on Black Bamboo Mountain for over twenty years.
She shaved her head after leaving a marriage she could only describe as
tasteless. The priest who ordained her thought it might be convenient to
have a live-in disciple for various chores and delights, but Koen had other
by Fiona Curnow
I think I love them all the more in autumn. The way just a few leaves cling
to the very tips of the branches. Like people cling on to things sometimes.
And the way there seems so much more space - more sky - between the trees.
It brings it home how vulnerable they really are.
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