"It just doesn't look right," Iris said, wringing her hands. Meghan couldn't take her eyes off those hands. She didn't think she'd ever seen anyone actually wring their hands before.
Category: Fiction
You Are Made of What You Are Made of
Inside a glass box, on a small pedestal, a sculpture of a green woman calls to me.
Lilies
The gymnast’s mother worked on Minoan Crete, and she loved it the way the gymnast once loved gymnastics. She even dressed like it.
14 May 1952
When you get home you put his watch and wedding ring in a shoe box.
The Outcast
Your name was Antoinette, and you didn’t belong.
Sunburn
The sun marked him as her own while he was still young and tender, a naive fisherman living in a wattle and daub shack by the sea.
Nightclub Toilet Me
If I could be anyone in the whole wide world, I would be nightclub toilet me.
On The Cards
I noticed the top joint of his left index finger was missing. ‘Fancy a game?’ he asked.
The Sacrifices We Make For You
When we were both ten, Anna told me the reason my wishes never came true was because my birthday cakes were made using margarine, not butter.
The Watermelon
When Bernice married, she was innocent in every way imaginable. Kirschbaum, it has to be said, was not.
