Your mother is sending you to the underworld. You can only bring one item with you. Which do you choose?
If you chose a piece of black ribbon, skip to A.
If you chose a broken watch, skip to B
Read more at Split Lip Magazine.
Sometimes I stare at Frankie’s dog tags without ever really thinking about it. Before I fall asleep, I’ll see them glinting in the green and gold lights from the strangers’ ships, and just space out. It isn’t conscious, my staring at them. It’s almost like I can’t stare at anything else.
I used to wear them around my neck, but my mother put a stop to that.
Read more on Curiosity Never Killed the Writer.
Amy first realized something was amiss in the third grade. There she was one minute, staring out of the window, thinking about the blueness of her classmate Jonah’s eyes, when suddenly a week had passed.
It always happened like that. She would lose herself in a daydream and then lose herself in real life.
Read more at The Toast.
My husband was too far away to hear me, but I said it anyway: “I don’t think we should knock.”
I watched him as he stumbled through the tall grass, past the gilded gates that led up to the mansion. I hurried after him, but didn’t run, and kept near the lime trees that lined the path. My nose stung with their scent.
Read More at The Toast
Ian laid down to sleep on the grass and when he woke up he was human again.
Lana had laid his clothes out in the usual grove: a tie, a button-up shirt, and slacks. Nestled next to the clothes were his loafers, cashmere socks balled up inside. He dressed quickly, although his hands were no longer used to buttons.
Read more at Necessary Fiction
He left me where he found me: the balcony of my mother’s apartment with the smell of adobo wafting in from the windows above, my sneakered feet dangling off the edge. His cape fluttered in the breeze and disappeared over the apartment building across the street, its jagged hem just barely missing a satellite dish.
Read more at The Toast