After cake and ice cream, the guests, in their painted smiles and polka dot attire, settle in to watch the man they’ve hired to entertain them. An actuary analyst! So much better, already, than last year’s accountant or the year-before-that’s linguistics scholar. In his narrow dark tie and shirt sleeves, he opens his briefcase of…
Crypt 1: Broomstick Skirts In robes of shell pink sunset over woodland hills, girls float the river to dance on hollow logs. Their gossamer gowns, devoured by fungus, release spores in the wind. In broomstick skirts, my sisters float skyward with petals on water. Soft as fleece, the faces our mother wears, one of them…
I’ve been a reader with Fractured since January 2024, and in that time, I’ve read hundreds of submissions. I’ve found that I end up passing on pieces for many of the same reasons over and over, and I’ve improved my own work by writing these reasons out for myself in detail, explaining to myself what…
Mom gets me a dog for my ninth birthday because she says all kids should have a dog
But I didn’t ask for a dog. I asked for Grand Theft Auto. Mom says, “There are things in that game that are not age-appropriate,” and I say, “Like killing hookers after you pay them so you can get your money back?” She crosses her arms and looks at me, her forehead wrinkling, but I…
What My Hands Remember
The vibration of the harvest gold phone that hung from our kitchen wall the last Sunday you called. Mom’s fingernails digging into my palm as she yanked the receiver and slammed it in the cradle. The deep divots imprinted on the back of my thighs from the plastic seat covers of our old Buick. That…
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