The first time I saw her, I almost tripped over my feet and introduced my nose to the pavement. Not because she was beautiful\u2013who could tell from the back of her head like that?\u2013but because she occupied my bench. My<\/i> bench. I glanced down the esplanade toward the seasonal businesses where the heady aroma of corn dogs and popcorn saturated the early summer breeze and enticed evening strollers to the waterfront. Plenty of benches sat empty there. No one had ever wanted to exchange the excitement of carnival rides and arcade games for the view of a bridge and some birds. No one except me. I get my fill of people at work every day. Moments of solitude on my bench are golden. \u00a0\u00a0Read more \u2026\u00a0<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n I first saw him dancing outside the diner.<\/p>\n Elbows out, coat flapping in the winter wind, arms wide in invitation, his dazzling smile lit up the night. Shoppers on the busy avenue flowed around his gyrations like leaves skirting a whirlpool\u2019s suction, diverted from their paths the bare minimum required to avoid eye contact or, heaven forbid, conversation with a lunatic. Dancing Man never noticed. His exuberance repelled the sting of apathy. \u00a0\u00a0 Read more\u2026<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n The northbound stretch of Route 39 snakes through upstate mountains on a labyrinthine path through old-growth forest, thick with trees which are said to have stood before Erikson set a toe aground in Newfoundland. It\u2019s beautiful country: rugged and unforgiving, packed with breathtaking vistas across green gorges, their walls striped with layered minerals, a geological clock I\u2019ve learned to read.<\/p>\n Those stripes brought me here. They kept me here for months. And now they are about to make me famous.<\/p>\n I pluck my phone from the console and check the signal. One bar. I might get lucky. I touch redial and listen, tongue on the roof of my mouth, for any sign of a connection. Ahead, the road twists right, then left, around turns blind even in broad daylight. It\u2019s nearly midnight now, with the moon a sliver that does little to aid navigation. I want to press harder on the gas. Instead, I tap the steering wheel with one broken, dirty nail.<\/p>\n \u201cCome on, come on,\u201d I mutter at the phone. After a minute, I glance at the screen again. No signal.<\/p>\n \u201cDamnit.\u201d I thumb the screen to sleep and drop it in the console, then shift my attention back to the road.<\/p>\n The gleam of eyes in my high beams throws my heart into overdrive. \u00a0 \u00a0Read more\u2026<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n They always find me.<\/p>\n Don\u2019t get me wrong. I love my profession. But it\u2019d be nice to have an occasional drink in peace. Disguises don\u2019t help. My skin is brown this time, my eyes grey like my hair. Still, he knows me.<\/p>\n He sits on the next barstool, orders a beer. \u00a0 Read more\u2026<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n I\u2019ve had it with Eric. He\u2019s pushed my last button. Twisted my last lock. Slammed my last door. His praise overflowed when he first bought me. \u201cLook at my beautiful condo!\u201d he tweeted, posting photos on Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr while I held a steady internet connection so he wouldn\u2019t have to repost later. I thought it was love at first sight for him, like it was for me. \u00a0 Read more\u2026<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n Three Months Ago<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n Kyle fought the urge to fidget and stilled his hands on the arms of his chair. The two project liaisons, Simone and Ellis, held his future. It wouldn\u2019t do to let them see how nervous he was.<\/p>\n \u201cProject growth has outstripped our ability to meet demand,\u201d Kyle said. \u201cTwenty-six new clients signed on today.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo?\u201d Simone said. \u201cAdd them to the waitlist.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s already months long.\u201d Kyle glanced at Ellis. \u201cI thought you were going to talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n Ellis stopped pacing and stared at his colleagues.<\/p>\n \u201cTalk to me about what?\u201d Simone said. \u00a0 Read more\u2026<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n I open my eyes to confusion and burning discomfort. Carpet stretches from my nose to the shelving unit, fuzzy without my glasses. All my furniture slants at an unexpected ninety-degree angle. What in the\u2026<\/p>\n A silvertone bar juts into the edge of my view. Oh. That. My aluminum walker. The one that sticks when it should slide and slides when it should stick. Lina warned me to get one with wheels and hand brakes. I\u2019ll never hear the end of it when she finds me.<\/p>\n Again. \u00a0 Read more\u2026<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n I was an old woman when our elders killed Bajhan.<\/p>\n Even so, I remembered my first Flowering. My ama and I rose before the sun and walked the long road to Bajhan. Ama sang the story of the festival and of Liyan, a gaiad who rose from the Earth to bestow abundance on our people. She showed me the dance steps there, on the path wet from night rains. She sang of the magic of the Flowering, of the work that would ensue, of the villagers who traveled from all around our region to see Liyan. She explained the lottery to select those lucky few who, once and only once in their lives, could petition Liyan for favors.<\/p>\n Bajhan still lay in torchlit darkness when we arrived. Read more\u2026<\/a><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n Jello smacked Benny in the back of the head, stray droplets splattering in orange beads that jiggled against the inside of his glasses. Benny gasped and spun, almost losing his tray, to face his assailant. Stupid brat! The boy pointed, laughing, while his mother shook a finger.<\/p>\n \u201cNow Philip, I told you not to throw your food,\u201d the brat\u2019s mother chided.<\/p>\n Gobbets of goo oozed through Benny\u2019s thick brown hair and dribbled beneath his collar to slide in sticky trails down his back. He ground his teeth, ignoring the cacophony of a mad Friday night, and stared daggers at table six before taking two steps toward the boy seated there. Read more\u2026<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n ~ * ~<\/p>\n My first arrow slices the air in silent uphill flight to pierce my target\u2019s throat, and I nock another shaft. Wet gurgling sounds fill the space between us. His upraised hands flutter like a naavi\u2019 at his wound, but my tip paste works fast. He staggers, turns, falls before he spies his killer. I walk toward him, ready to loose if he twitches. When I am close enough, I can see he won\u2019t move again.<\/p>\nDancing Man<\/h3>\n
Deer In Headlights<\/h3>\n
Endless Potential<\/h3>\n
Home Sweet Home<\/h3>\n
Jane Doe #7<\/h3>\n
Late December<\/h3>\n
Muzi\u2019s Boon<\/h3>\n
Switch<\/h3>\n
Upshot<\/h3>\n