short fiction

Short Fiction: “Grief takes different shapes they say. At times my imagination wanders as I lie awake in the early hours. When a tree branch taps my window I believe it’s Stephen out there, waiting to come in so we can lie once again, safe in each other’s arms.”

Short Fiction: “I get out the car and walk up to Gideon. His bag is lighter than my tote. In addition to his black eye, there’s a dried blood stain on his paisley chiffon blouse.”