It smells like rain, except it isn’t rain. It’s lies. It can’t smell like rain all the time.
‘You’re mistaken,’ he says again. ‘Deluded.’
Words come and go to him like a wet dog shaking itself free of wet. The drops go flying everywhere. It doesn’t matter where, just off, out of the fur.
‘Unavoidable,’ he says. ‘Work. Pressure.’
I am drenched with your words, by your tongue and the shake of your head that sends the wet drops flying at me, into me. Soaking me.
‘I hate being late, too,’ he...
Apples and Chamomile – Boston Literary Magazine
Heedful Nights – Storgy
Trapped – Flash Fiction North
Role Reversal – Potato Soup Journal
Furry Raspberries - Coffin Bell
Waste Paper Love – Muddy River Poetry Review
Traces and View from a High Window – Nine Muses Poetry
Teacher – Listen Chamber Magazine
Before Crime and Punishment and the History of Tom Jones – Reflex Fiction
Dreaming Epidermis – Tales from the Moonlit Path
Reflections from an Epicure – Scarlet Leaf Review
Roadkill – The Blue Nib
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