Category: Short Stories

Six tiny stories for October 3rd: On October 3rd, he asked me what day it was. “What day is it?” he asked. “It’s October 3rd,” I said. …

In the third generation after we’d colonized the Douzaines Moons, the gems started appearing. A sort of shimmering blood-blister, growing under a fingernail, usually, though about one in a five get it under a toenail, becoming a full-fledged gémmoire a few years after the first flush of hormonal puberty has settled in. The First Ones

So, Marge says to me, she says “Hey, Bill– you wanna try something new?” I mean, we’re talking about dinner, and I figure she’s about to ask me if I want the Yukon Gold or the Idaho Russets in the pot roast– because it’s Sunday and we always have pot roast on Sunday– or at

Part II. Now, kids, what I want to tell you, whether you’re listening or not, is why I couldn’t even be a bitch. Honestly, there were plenty of times I wished I could be a bitch. But the wish never came true. Really, kids, I now know that being connected—“plugged in” as we used to

Part I. I am depressed. … You don’t know me. I am spiteful and alone. I think I have social anxiety disorder. Or maybe not. I don’t know. I’m not in therapy; I’ve never even been to an analyst, though I believe in modern medicine and think everyone could use a little counseling. I’m incredibly