The magic was long gone and left pesky murmurs, wretched smiles behind.
Before consulting a psychologist, I decided to cook dinner for us. We sat on the table; she examined the meat vigilantly.
“It’s the left ventricle of my heart,” I explained. “Or at least, whatever is left of it.”
George S. Karagiannis is an aspiring science fiction author whose love for writing never decays.