At first I barely felt the bullet pierce the low-slung cocktail dress and enter my heart. It seemed impossible to consider death real, despite the warning minutes earlier from the mysterious lady with the black eye shadow alongside me. I always thought I'd have more time. Guess everyone does. My demise only registered when I caught sight of the spatter of red – my red – peppering his shirt as he tucked the gun away, butto...

Eden. The word doesn’t need adornment, it just evokes the image of paradise. Except, it doesn’t in my case. Though not by any means hell, my Eden wasn’t the paradise you should find yourself praying for. For you see, my Eden was, and maybe always will be, my community; a coastal Australian town, about five hundred kilometres, though at times it felt more like five hundred years, away from Sydney. Eden was, as you might ha...

July’s midsummer heat stuck. It stuck to the blades of grass. It stuck to Sumire’s beige romper. It stuck to everything and anything like a sweltering bog. Sweat drenched her underarms as she set up her easel and foldable chair. Even at her elevated vantage point, the muggy draft painted her body with its salty sheen.Wiping her brow, she gazed over the stacked rows of terraced rice paddies below, bristling with the vibran...

Rita sees them coming, moving carefully through the Friday crowd. She waits till they reach their spot, then kills the booming juke. "Clear the floor!" she commands, quelling the protests with a glare till the two are standing alone. She punches up their song and the room fills with ghosts. Eyes only for themselves, they embrace and slowly dance. They were girls then, lovers when the madness struck. One to the camps, the...

On weekends I used to go into townto shoot in black and white.People strolling, kids running free,dogs or cars or any funny thing.The woman with the camera. Now I just shoot ghosts alongthe plague scoured streetsand empty parking lots,lucky for a distant shot of lifein the few unshutter shops. Sitting on a sunny bench,having coffee and a smoke,it's like she's been waiting for meto come around the cornerand capture her sol...

An hour each Wednesday is our time of loveafter I check the stations along the forest creek.We meet where beavers made a little pooland sweet grass covers the sloping bankcanopied by sycamores dancing in the breeze. We met by chance when I spotted herat the water's edge on a hot summer day.Blouse pulled out and open, she was coolingher bared breasts with a dampened scarf,humming to the burbling water's song At the snap of...

Some say only ducks truly enjoy the rain. They obviously have not met Kerstin.  “You’re stark-raving mad, you know that?” I call out to her from the bungalow’s front porch.  “We haven’t seen the sun for three days. These puddles may very well be my only chance at a pool.” She jumps, splashing both feet like a rebellious child with a rose-colored pout. “At least we’ll save on sunscreen!” She has that carefree aura; the typ...

"Are you there, my dear Eloise?" she called out to the shadows. She waited in still silence, hanging on hope. Her pulse grew as the wind picked up, rattling the windows. She spun around, searching for a figure in the darkness. Wood creaked underneath her as she stepped closer. "I still think of you, my dear Eloise. The way your hair tangles in the wind, the way you squint when you're upset, the softness of your lips..." s...

I was annoyed… At first… Then I was amused. - - - I have lived in Midtown Manhattan for most of my adult life and Eugenia’s Creations just off Herald Square is my favorite boutique. I am a curvy girl and Eugenia designs specifically for ladies with a figure. I tend towards the slightly edgy side of sturdy tailored pieces, which means I don't do frilly stuff well. Nevertheless, I have a great appreciation for good design t...

She was the product of four different diasporas - Armenian, French, Greek and Scottish - and this showed in her features; her face was long and thin, with freckles spread across it like stars on a cloudless night, her nose was large and beak-like and her eyes, wide, understanding, and a deep chocolatey brown that clashed so shockingly and wonderfully against her thick tresses of curly red hair. She was everything I had ev...

I hold my cards close to my chestNever letting anyone inI don’t show my true coloursInstead keeping my thoughts to myselfWhy would I do this, you askBecause the world is so cruelNarrow-minded fools are in chargeAnd refuse to understand meI am deeply in love, yet I cannot shareI am listed as single, unwedBut as long as my love understandsI do not careSome days it’s harder, I just want to screamBecause she means the whole w...

Cerise rode home quietly that night, and Mike glanced at her. "You OK?" "Yeah. Tired," Cerise replied, and looked forward. It had been an odd night. Some of the customers had come on a little strong, and so had the singer. Yet at the same time, Cerise had felt something come back to life inside of her. She was not certain why, but it gave her hope. She stared out of the window as they drove through the dark night, and he...

Cerise Adams stood in front of the worn mirror that was leaning against the wall of her room, staring at the clothes that she wore. It was a pair of black shorts and a bright red tee shirt that boasted the name of her uncle's bar in Portland, and it was her new job. Frank's. It was simple and the name of his father, who had run it before her uncle Mike. Mike had turned it into more of a club, featuring music and dancing o...

You’ll play these maidens for fools, Dancer dear, Cropped hair atomic pink, steel stud shining In your bottom lip, a bank your tongue overflows When you giggle. Look at you: baby blue UFO pants, rainbow Piping, your silly little bump and grinding; Kandi-coated arms flail like tipsy windmills, Funky Dutch style. Soon you’ll need to pop that paci inside Your mouth, you’re so toon-eyed and trippy But I’d rather plant my own...

I thought they buried you in the snowLast winter-- but, pray, was that me?Curious, how I’ve nowhere to go,But pace the graves at half past three:Mysterious ‘tis, where goes my mindThese bleary days since I spied you last;It seems I’m cloistered from my kind,Lost, amazed, in the winding past.But look at you! As snowflakes white,Trellised atop the gravestone’s perch!How does your trembling lip invite,Like toll of midnight b...