Broken

Broken I’m almost done the dishes when the unthinkable happens. My hand, slippery with suds, grasps my glass and it slips, falling onto the floor with a sharp crack. I stare in horror at my only glass, lying in four large pieces and a scattering of shards. Immediately I start gathering them together, trying to…

Creeping Things

Creeping Things Footsteps creep by outside, military-style boots. Breathe slowly. Militia, looking for conscripts. Or target practice. Stomach rumbles. It’s been hours. Low voices. So hungry. Moving away. Something creeps across your hand. You grab it instinctively. It squirms. You stuff it in your mouth. Crunchy. Suddenly you’re a kid again, hunting crickets in the…