My best customer had just left with a packetful of herbs when the man I’d seen in my dreams for years ran up. His deep brown eyes darted side to side. My breath caught at his beauty.
“You have to help me!” His second unspoken words gave a reason for his terror.
“I hate my job.” Tina scowled at the curtains that separated her from the audience. “I’d rather play bingo.”
“No, you don’t.” Tello, the stage manager, shuffled his cue cards. “And no, you wouldn’t. You hate bingo.” He tugged at her arm. “Come on, your cue’s coming any minute!”
The City Hall walls are made entirely of glass. The sun pierces through, warming my back.
It would be a beautiful day if not for the two security guards pointing tasers at my face.
City Hall’s hustle lurches into slow motion. The second hand on the clock could race a snail,
My eyes are transfixed by the rhythmic pulse of the red blinking light. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
It calls out to me, signaling me to press the button. Daring me. Taunting me. But I can’t. Not yet.
The weight on my chest stills my breath and my hand.
“At least we caught it early.” I offer a box of tissues to Renee Halloway as we stand outside her son’s hospital room. When she doesn’t grab it, her husband John takes the box instead.
I hate giving bad news. It wrenches my stomach every time I have to say cancer.
The dark market never changed. Even after sixty years, the rickety stalls seemed apt to blow over at a breath, and the sun unable to penetrate the dark shroud.
Penelope halted at the edge of the alleyway. Jack’s voice echoed in her head––“I want an orb!”––and her staunch response––
Bright signs decorated with gleeful peaches and grinning ears of corn advertised a local fall festival down the road. Tempting. Justin was more than ready for a break. The constant whoosh of hot air blasting through the car’s open windows for three days made for two cranky children. Cranky father, too.
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I narrow my eyes at the porker rooting through a box of graham crackers on my kitchen floor. Today, your reign of terror comes to an end.
The potbelly pig chomps down on another package of crackers. I crouch, inching past the cupboard door that hangs lopsidedly from busted hinges, victim
Kay studied her notes while the sounds of the alien planet filled her spaceship. Wind whistled through the sugar reeds, sand blew across the dunes, and water lapped along the shore. Birds called out as they took flight, and a chorus of insects chirped in the background.
“The ambience of Ailuros is beautiful,
Doyle glanced around and nudged the fishmonger.
“Do you have the… goods?”
The fishmonger nodded. “Aye.” He slipped Doyle a parcel wrapped crudely in brown paper. “And, there’s a fine whiting,” he bellowed, pointing to a large, white fish lying on the table.
Did the man have to be so obvious?
The thick liquid coated Violet’s tongue.
They say that when a person loses one sense, the rest compensate. Although she never did figure out why her sense of taste exploded—figuratively speaking—after a bomb destroyed her hearing, killed Silas, and nearly killed her.
A small vibration tickled her fingers when Felix tapped the table.
The crunchy bitterness of the riptalion leaf takes a slight edge off my craving. Grasping my swollen stomach, shoulders hunched, I glance back toward the castle, pushing strands of golden hair out of my face. Here in our private garden, my husband and I grow the dark green, large-leafed lettuce
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