“In the spring of 2020, when the lockdown began, Liz still owned the ax that broke down her childhood front door…”
FICTION | NONFICTION | POETRY
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All tagged short story
“In the spring of 2020, when the lockdown began, Liz still owned the ax that broke down her childhood front door…”
“…I can see it’s a black, shrunken stick about ten feet high, stripped of the bark I once ran my fingers over.”
“I remember the sun was high in the sky and the clearing held a holy quiet, like no human feet had ever marred its face. So, of course I followed.”
“He’s not unreasonable, he tells me. But he’s genuinely alarmed by the extent of the first-round edits.”
“The sky peels back like a tinfoil lid and something putrid creeps in...”
“Everything was ours, our reality untamed by time and misogyny, and the price we’d pay for living remained alien to us.”
“If ever a saint could be described as not giving any fucks, it would be her.”
“He loved the sense that sex could be an intervention between two people.”
“There are millions of reasons to be late to a flight and only a very small number of them are desirable.”
“…that peculiar zen-like wisdom that must be as accessible to the unborn as to the dead.”