I was a green girl, kidnapped, forced to marry Hades underground—that’s how my mother tells the story. But consider this. I have appetites. I broke the pomegranate open, I shared a juicy feast with my man. If you were born to unrelenting summer, you’d crave a velvet shadow too.
Anne Lindley Killheffer wrote this story.
Nights were the worst. Caffeine caught up, jittering his limbs, bulging his eyes as raw sewage gushed from metaphoric bowels, untreated memories he thought he’d repressed. Bloody flashes and screams kept any rest for the wicked far beyond his grasp.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
That would be the day.
Milo James Fowler is a teacher by day, writer by night. Stop by his blog any time: www.milo-inmediasres.com.
Joanna had seventeen seconds to decide: would she help herself, or help someone else? Which would it be, selfishness or altruism?
To her left lay the bike trail to work. To her right, a struggling local donut shop and the subway system.
Joanna turned right. Today, she was a hero.
This story is based on a title suggested by @Haberley.