Erased

Erased

It started with my mom. Her memory would slip and she would mistake me for Dad, even though he had been gone for years. Or worse, she would forget altogether. One day the nurse at the home gave me a look—a weird combination of frustration and comfort—as I entered my mom’s room. Mom had been forgetting more and more, but was generally happy to see a familiar face, even if only vaguely so. But today was different. Not only did she look upset, she didn’t look herself at all. “Hi Mom! It’s me, your favorite son,” I said with forced...

Imbolg

“Genaine, thank you for doing this for me,” Weylin said. Genaine spat on the ground in front of him. “I’m not doin’ it for you, my lord. I’m doing it for Brigid,” growled the elder woman. “Someone needs to look after this child in the way she would have wanted.” Weylin stood calmly nodding his head in affirmation. Keitha thought she might have even seen a tug at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, of course. My mistake. Praise be to the goddess that you are here to serve.” Keitha thought she detected a slight lack of sincerity in her...

Working Title

It started small, as weird little annoyances. I couldn’t find my keys anywhere. I looked under couch cushions, dared to stick a hand under the couch–and tried not to think about the crumbs and goo my fingers were crawling through. I searched in the laundry hamper and went through all the pockets of my jeans, then every jacket and hoodie I could find strewn about my studio apartment. I mean, the place is, like, minuscule. How many spots were there for keys to hide? Think, Emma! THINK! Where did you toss them last night? I was beginning to believe a...

If Wishes Were War Horses

If Wishes Were War Horses

They say there’s a war horse that lives over in Hideaway, New Mexico, whose hooves throw sparks like hellfire and whose breath could move the moon. They say the horse is made of metal from a fallen star, forged and assembled by some automaton god. They say that horse grants wishes, if only you can gentle it long enough to straddle its shoulders. They say a lot of things. It was only June, and Hideaway was already thirsty. The channels down the sides of Tenmile Mesa sat bone-dry and dusty. A few of old Gracie’s cows died of thirst that...

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