Stories

He’d hurried onto the plane after everyone was seated, his long gray hair shaped like a triangle around his head, appearing as a strange halo behind him. He was about five feet tall, and he had to reach his arms all the way up when he stuffed his mauve faux-leather sack, which was peeling with age, into the last known overhead spot. He sat down with a light glumph and clicked the seat’s buckle. The massive albatross put its fat head down and flapped down the long runway…

Cool minutes cling to dry rain gutters, gather and grow like a great web until each house on the street connects with pre-morning lace, an icy layer between rooftops…

It’s dark outside, and I can’t see the sky. We are all there is to look at…

Dear God, make me a man, or at least seem like one to Samantha Rockwood.