short-story
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He stares at her. Then back to the blackening road. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror and her again in a cycle of confusion. His breath quickens and without thinking, his right arm drops, and the Tiago pivots into the shoulder. The stop is sudden, Saltz cries out in the back in protest as…
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My name is Nene. My ID card says Nai, the Thai word for Mister, followed by a long boy’s name my father chose from a monk’s list. I will not write it here, and no Thai law will let me change it.
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Andrea “Andi” Burns opened her emails and was amazed, maybe shocked, by what she saw. It was a positive response to the job application she had sent months ago to a criminal law firm, located in Richmond, California, about 16 miles from downtown San Francisco.
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There are three things you need to know before you read this. Firstly, I loved living alone. After years of sharing rooms and dealing with intrusive family members, this was the dream. Second, I was shy and hated engaging in conversation with strangers first. And third, I was a clueless girl and didn’t see the signs.
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Over the years, she learned the patterns. The steps were loudest when she was afraid. They quickened when she was about to make a decision she would regret.
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“I know darling. You’d let the world burn for me. But I don’t want you to. Please. Please.” “Why?” Why would she want to die? I held her face gently. She leaned into my touch.
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Logically, he knew everything that was in that closet. Everything that was on the floor in the shadow where the night light didn’t touch. He knew every inch of that laminate flooring leading to that closet. His window was locked. The front and back door were locked. His mom was fast asleep just down the…
