Since I am 6’4”, Black, and a furry dude to boot, I am not your typical Upper Westside Mom. . .
Tag: short fiction
Adela sits at her desk in the Kingston parliament building, which looks like a Moorish palace. . .
She was right, I just got him seven minutes ago, but it was my turn again . . .
He takes off, devil-may-care grin on his face as he looks back at me. He’s not even watching where he’s going . . .
I held a glass of champagne in my hand and stood alone under the dark night sky. . .
The cool water of the lake bit into her as she reached for the canoe, hands slipping against the polished surface, tired legs kicking slowly at the darkness . . .
It used to be so. Playing dead to catch Corbeau alive. Every day started with the Our Father.
“I’m sorry.” It was a simple statement, filled with honesty and sadness, but truth was evident in the man’s voice . . .