Every Writer

She always loves the smell of her mother’s freshly baked apple pie. She never dares eat it, though. She always appreciates the smell of food more than the taste.

Last thing I remember was her arm being out the window. We was racing down the 101, outside Ventura, sun disappearing over her shoulder. She handed me the bottle,

Josiah R. Sutcliff made his fortune stealing the mineral wealth of California and Nevada in the 1880’s and 1890’s. When Josiah died in 1937, he was one of the richest and loneliest men west of Denver

It was on a Wednesday that I first saw it. I was in the garden hanging out the washing when something caught my eye at the house opposite. I looked away, so scared by the image

They started out in the dark. A 4:30 a.m. alarm had gotten them out the door, showered and respectable, in old but clean REI outfits. Leah hated this. Waking up before dawn

Back in 1957, kissing Carol Ann behind the barn in the middle of a windswept field of Goldenrod with a sudden deer watching was something special, let me tell you

The Boat by Robert Knox Though sometimes, whenever we were in town, we took you out from the ‘place’ and

I went to work by myself that day because my mom was busy crying. The work is a killer. The soft flesh is easily bruised, so they must be picked, and packed

I wear want-me red with matching stilettos and the bracelet he brought from Venezuela, the earrings received for a birthday meant to echo my crystalline eyes

The Photo by M.H.D.S. Dharshanapriya ‘Where is the photo ? Who took it ? Tell me.’ My sister’s frenzied voice

Raymond stood at the casket for a long time. It was early in the afternoon and the family would not be back to the funeral home to receive visitors until six o’clock