“Where’s your darling husband?” asked my neighbour, peeking above our shared hedge.
“Travelling,” I replied, juggling the parcels I held while struggling to open the boot of my car.
“Oh? Where to?”
I wiped one of the parcels that was slightly blood-stained and pushed it further into the boot. “Everywhere.”
AJ Joseph occasionally writes at Words from Sonobe and tweets very short stories as @sonobeus.
Sugar is the enemy. Fat is poison. Mantras like these run on a loop inside my foggy mind.
Staring down the overflowing plate, my heart thunders against my ribcage at the thought of eating blacklisted snacks.
Grimacing, I take a bite of the Hershey bar. Recovery is a slow process.
Lauren is an undergraduate student studying Creative Writing at Emerson College.
Shadow Hands pull off my limbs, gently—methodically. They stack my arms and legs. Toes and fingers face away from me in elegant precision.
But moonlight illuminates a scar from before I can remember, reminding me the foot is mine.
I should want to cry. Morning comes before I can.
Stephanie Jones works as editor of New Jersey Teachers Magazine and features writer at Hot House Jazz Guide and JazzSpeaks.org. When time permits, she hosts a podcast called “After the Call.” Jones graduated from Wellesley College having studied with Frank Bidart and Alicia Erian, and earned her BFA in Jazz Performance from The City College of New York.
“You’re a naughty boy, Dr. Frankenstein, leaving all those body parts on the floor for me to trip over. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you wanted me to trip and kill myself.”
“Then you’d better count yourself lucky I’m building a car down here and not a monster.”
Connell Wayne Regner wrote this story as inspired by Alex Sinclair’s The Disgruntled Housekeeper. Connell’s other dabblings can be found at paragraphplanet and wtdmagazine.wordpress.com.