Of course Bill was told almost at once. Some details remained murky, but he knew enough to avoid the funeral. Larry would’ve saluted his service for that. Never no sentimentality with him.
Flexing her fingers encased in leather gardening gloves, Betty Birdsall leaned back and admired her freshly-weeded rock garden. Now that it was mid-June, the fuchsia creeping phlox had faded, but purple rock cress and blue star creeper were in full flower, complementing the pink hydrangeas in bloom against the house.
You’re gone. That’s why I’m out here driving this gosh darn Bobcat in this gosh darn wind to dig a gosh darn trench in this gosh darn field. The wind rises like a breath and works its way under the Bobcat, under my skirt. I hunch over the controls, press my skirt between my legs, and clamp them shut. Digging a trench is man’s work. Women are supposed to be, “discreet, chaste, keepers at home, good, obedient to their own husbands.”
The doorbell rang just as I set my phone alarm for my midday Tylenol. Stormy hurled herself onto the couch, barking at the front window. With hands braced against the furniture along my path, I hobbled to the door. My neighbor, Sheila Wright, stood on the porch holding a narrow cardboard box. A larger package lay on the metal table next to her.
“Who just called?” asked Bernie Silver of his wife, Barb.
“Mr. Spam again,” she responded. “This time a realtor asking if we were interested in selling our home.”
They lived in a quiet area of Palo Alto, California, the heart of Silicon Valley.
Edie Cunningham left Sarah Bracey's house the same way she'd come, by an unlocked back window.
Got to get away from here, Edie thought, ripping the rubber gloves from her hands, and stuffing them beside the small flashlight in the hip pocket of her jeans. Got to get far away from Sarah’s dead body on the study floor.
Up to her elbows in mounds of washed lettuce and spinach in the parish hall kitchen, Lizzie Christopher assembled large bowls of mixed salad garnished with carrot peels and dotted with sliced radishes. The parish hall would be one of many event spaces serving dinner to the townspeople on First Night, or New Year’s Eve, before the evening concerts, one-act plays, and fireworks.
There is a school shooter in the building.
Wait, let me build the scene.
I teach creative writing at a community college. It’s not Ivy League, but I still teach with the same passion, integrity, duty as if it were.
Advancements in skincare have led to remarkable treatments that offer deep, cellular-level rejuvenation. DNA-based treatments are among these innovative options, bringing a unique approach to skincare that promotes healing and renewal from within.
“And, Johnny, don’t drag your little brother up that hill.” Backlit on the porch, our mom planted hands on hips.
My big brother Johnny sighed and snapped his white pillowcase in the black Halloween night. It cracked beside my ear.
