fiction

The Dearly Beloved

It’s Christmas and we’re six years old, and I cannot say “I love you.” The evening has stretched into night and the air has grown warm with wine and conversation. My parents glance over and find me, head tucked into the crook of your knee as I struggle to fight the steady in-out of your…

Lower

Suddenly, I found myself standing in the middle of a dimly lit room. There was a sickly sweet smell wafting through the air, and it was hot. Scorching. Confused, I turned in circles and tried to make sense of where I was and why I seemed to be in line for something. As soon as…

An invitation [to be pretty]

“You would be so pretty if you just…” Dear Sir, Growing up my mother never told me I was pretty. I don’t say that to mean she referred to me as beautiful, or lovely, even, but that she rarely referred to my looks except to offer some mild criticism. That suited me well, as I…