A fog does not roll in. Rain does not fall, does not soak the earth until suffocating worms rise, blind and glistening, to be met by opportunistic birds. When she opens the door, it does not creak. The air is very still. Dust does not rise. As she steps inside, the floorboards do not groan. Nothing moves. The house is so well behaved. Walking through the old, empty hallways of her childhood, she feels no cold spots.  It's amazing, really. You wouldn't know this place was

My smartwatch says ‘unknown number,’ but I know who it is.  ‘Good afternoon, Lydia Charles,’ I say, reciting the manual.  ‘Tracey, Pete here, time for a quickie?’  I look around the train carriage. It’s silent. There are eyes in books, eyes out the window, and, now, eyes on me.  ‘Sure,’ I say.  ‘Sure?’ Pete says.  The manual outlaws ambiguity.  ‘Of course, Pete,’ I say.  ‘What you wearing?’ He says.  ‘Office clothes,’ I whisper. The bespectacled old man in front of me looks u

(TW - Sexual Misconduct) Amma narrates the legend of Honamma for the millionth time as you make your way to the temple. Last week, a sharp ringing of a bicycle bell interrupted the tale as a man in a tattered turban ran his rusty vehicle into a mould of freshly laid dung.  “Chi!” Amma pointed to the slush on her feet. The man flashed dirty dung between his legs.  Your hands froze, your heart sank to your pit, you even forgot the Sanskrit mantras.  You looked for gorges,

Melinda screamed, hot, forceful breath scraping her teeth. She was doing what she was supposed to, that’s how aggrieved mothers behaved. “You want your baby to die, asshole?!” The voice on the other end of the call was deep, distorted–a deadbeat Darth Vader. Offended, Melinda wanted to scold Scott for taking things too far, his inclusion of “asshole,” but much like her screaming, there was a protocol to follow; he was just doing his part. A “fuck” would most certainly be co

If you decide this story is incoherent, I want the world to know I have a constellation of three freckles under my wrist from when I had anorexia. Are three stars even a constellation? I want to say so. All of the daily shots made a discoloration, where it used to be calm, fragile, and new under there. Maybe it’s incorrect that the freckles came from illness, which changed my body forensically, but when I look back, I want someone to know I find it true. & so, it is a tale a