I am locked up in a cell. The captors are conducting medical experiments on us. They give us metal wires to stick in our necks, which I know instinctively will erase our memories.
The Cranberry Man
He bolts upright from the classroom floor to find there is hardwood now instead of emerald carpet. His legs are shorter than they’d used to be, clad in long khaki shorts that show shriveled monkey limbs from the knees down. No. No, no, no!
His hands are shriveled like the prunes he’d so often associated with old age, thick white hairs curling off the backs of them, follicular steam. Where had she gone?
Touch
When I first met Paul, I thought she was a Jesus freak because of her shirt. The shirt was screaming neon yellow, the kind of shirt they give you at camp because you need to be able to find your campers again after letting them loose in a roadside history museum or food court, and it was too big because they only ever make camp shirts in one size. It said “TAG — YOU’RE IT!” on the front, with a big screen-printed cross. It was kind of threatening.
Where is Waldo?
The River
Godhunters
Late Autumn
Jackalope
When I was in the seventh grade I found a scalpel after school. I think it belonged to my mom. There was nowhere else it could have come from. And this scalpel almost glowed. The black, black, veiny marble counter it was sitting on reflected a kind of halo around the silver knife, anything but subtle.
Empty Cassettes
My Sister
Pre-Show Jitters
Comedy tip #5: Never be mean to the whole audience at once. She stood up and started pacing the small dressing room, holding an imaginary mic, repeating the lines over and over, barely louder than a whisper. “Everyone in Ohio wants to leave Earth. But hey, it could be worse. I could be from Indiana.”
