Prickly Pear aka Opuntia, Genus Cactaceae. The fruit of the cactus plant is green when raw, bright red when ripe. You see her, a prickly pear standing alone by the… Read more »
Soon we will be in bed. You will kiss my forehead and turn away, to your phone.
I will pretend to read, but really look at your graying head until I fall asleep.
I woke up one morning and she was gone. As if she was a butterfly that had landed on my nose for a brief moment. But in that brief moment, she made me believe in all things beautiful and pure.
My fangs were the first to go after the procedure. Then the thirst for blood. I live on without the will to live. I’ve been told to keep up, but… Read more »
“I like the sound of blueberry scones. What about you, hon?” I ask, but Alice continues peering into her Sconehenge menu with furrowed brows, as if she’s memorizing every item on… Read more »
Behind him, the Monterey shore was turning into a distant speck. He stared out into the vast blue ahead. Cold gusts of briny wind slapped his cheeks. He wished he was someplace warm. He could go inside and sit with the others in the galley, but that would mean sitting with Cora.
Tiny droplets of vapor collected inside the oxygen mask every time he exhaled. A thin layer of crust had formed on his eyelashes, like cobwebs in an abandoned house. Clear fluid dripped from an IV line in slow, almost hypnotic droplets. The room was quiet except for the staccato beeping of the heart monitor and the whooshing, Darth Vader-ish noise of the ventilator.
I loaded the last spoon into the dishwasher when I heard her coming down the steps. “At last, the tiny dictator sleeps!” she beamed with her hands in the air like a victorious… Read more »
As she neared the bazaar, the brightness almost fooled her into happy thoughts. She could smell the warm notes of cardamom and incense mixed with the acrid stench of moonshine from the bordello.
Somewhere in this fluid timeline that I live in, lucid dreams flow. I don’t know where one ends and the other begins. I dream of my past life, my life before captivity. It feels like someone is briskly cleaning that slate, but I try and hang on to whatever memory I can.