While the apartment phone rings over and over, the couple cooks awkwardly trying not to involve eye contact with each other. Her shinny blue eyes are fixed on the onion she is chopping,

I was assembled anonymously according to traditions. I fail to realize my identity. My memory is cyclically deleted. I’m a symbiotic specialized adaption for systematic kinetic force. I have been eaten and I’ve consumed anything radiating energy forces

“Here, give her to me. I’ll take her.”

A nurse snatches my baby at the threshold as though I’m a delivering a bundle of laundry. Her statement, brusque, devoid of emotion, and her manner, business-like. This woman is obviously in charge.

I cradled her beautiful face in my hands. Her big blue eyes looked up at me and her smile shined radiantlywith the glowing light bouncing off her white teeth.

Mrs. Petersen knew what they were doing up the road. Mr. Baum had a good idea, too. He was the town baker and although he worked a lot he still heard the rumors.

It was dusk and Cuervo paced around the apartment, the sound of his nails clicking across the floor marking time with the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

The Dress by Bruce Levine Claudine Bucknell set up her easel in what would have been the shadow of the north-west leg of the Washington Square Arch if there could have been a shadow at noon on the north side of the Arch. It was a beautiful Sunday in June with the temperature just right […]