Rabbits escaped her hat; their itchy feet ached for dry dirt over dry-cleaned velure. Her sleeves cried pigments of cheap pretense. On the mortician’s table, her final trick was unveiled: a heartless ribcage—a taunting gimmick—was the oldest trick in the book. The coroners still queued for the show.
Alex Creece is a snow poff.
I thought it’d be an easy stab ‘n grab, but the old man didn’t flinch when I pointed the knife at his chest. Instead he grabbed the handle and thrust the blade between his ribs, past the lungs, to where his heart should have been.
He laughed and walked away.
Francisco Tutella’s fiction and poetry reflect his experiences growing up in northeastern Pennsylvania and his travels in Italy. His work has appeared in 50-Word Stories and Wilkes magazine. He holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Wilkes University and teaches composition and literature in northeastern Pennsylvania.
I hovered above the students as they gathered around my frozen body.
“The tumour was here,” said the professor, “but the heart was the problem.”
She reached in with gloved hands, pulling aside my ribcage to reveal the hole in my chest. Nothing there but thorns and soft white dew.
Mark Farley is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Please wish him luck!
A lonely ache lives in your chest, shoving things out of the way to make room. It’s hard to breathe now. It grows. Gains teeth.
Soon, it begins to gnaw away at your heart. It is fortunate it chose that, for it is the thing you will miss the least.
Anna Piaia is a lover of both words and history. She lives in Philadelphia, where both are plentiful. You can see her ramblings at annadelphia.com