The chauffeur dropped Lila off by the barbershop with the twirling pole, next to Daddy’s law office. Her lunch money was still in her pocket.
She hated her long chestnut hair, the tangles, the velvet hairbands from Grandmother.
Mama would scream.
Lila went inside. She gave the barber her money.
Megan Abrahams is a Los Angeles-based writer / art critic and artist. A contributing writer for Art Ltd. Magazine, ArtPulse Magazine, Fabrik Magazine, LOST WKND and WhiteHot Magazine of Contemporary Art, she is currently writing her first novel. Sporadic updates appear on her blog.
“I want to see it.”
“Are you sure?”
She frowned at the sticky red placenta in the blue plastic pan.
Could the newborn see it? He eyed the afterbirth and sighed a breath of apathy towards his now-lifeless life-support.
She couldn’t know he’d eventually feel the same about her.
Liz Lambson is a Jane of all trades who might write you a song about painting with cross-stitched sheet music propped on a hand-carved wooden stand. She does things like this when she’s not watching her kids.
It had started out as a cry for fairer wages, better living conditions, and dental. Then the revolt had become inevitable.
Santa sat in his cell and ate his microwave Christmas dinner. His wife had led the charge, and now she flew the sleigh. It was better that way…
David is a fan of Christmas, honestly. Last year he made his own crackers, minus the ‘crack’.