Short Story by Troy Farah
We never knew for certain its origin, only what we could accumulate from quick glances at it as it darted about.
We never knew for certain its origin, only what we could accumulate from quick glances at it as it darted about.
Ava says, 'Uncle Isaac, please. We need to look after him. You need to help me.'
Be positive, but be genuine, the memo advises. Acknowledge that this is an emotionally difficult time, but demonstrate confidence in our future.
I wonder if, years later, Montana will seem like a blip—or the beginning of the rest of my life.
The pictures were mostly of Julie posing naked, like you’d see in a magazine.
Everywhere I went, the hatch on the top of my head was flapping open and my spirit was joyriding.
Hank was all magnet, and around him she shattered into metal filings.
What’s so cool about Grandma is that she’s the only one who knows I’m bisexual.
A crazy and shameful thought occurred to me. I could paint a get-well card with my mother’s blood.
Come this time tomorrow, she’d be crossing West Texas—with Nopalito far behind her. She knew where she was going.