The boy’s body hit the hood of the Toyota, slammed off the windshield, and then slid, falling out of sight from where Marie stood. She thought it might have been a performance, it happened so quickly, but there was no mistaking the terrible, high-whistle screeching of...
“Next round’s on me, guys.” Charlie Bishop bellied his way to the bar and leaned on it, signaling the bartender. “Boys, I’m cashed.” Jean dug in her purse. “Charlie!” she yelled, sticking some bills under the napkin dispenser. “I gotta go! Pickin’ up Jasmine!” She...
The boy’s skin was very pale. Arms turned down, thin strips of black wrapped around, mapping where the skin didn’t meet. He was very handsome and Murmur was glad. It was so much more romantic when beautiful people died. The lips looked white, burned, and raw. Her...
From The Woman Who Never Cooked by Mary L. Tabor, Mid-List Press, 2006; previously published by Chelsea. Mary Tabor is the inaugural grand prize winner of the SFWP Literary Awards Program. ——- Ruth had found one silver earring lying on her bureau, opened...
