Fiction

The Story Of A Painting

she couldn’t help but wonder why she fell last in every story

The last time he saw her, they were in her lavender garden

The beeping was constant.

There was something wrong, with your expression,

Most of us live on the second floor.

the boy’s bike wobbled precariously

everything else seemed normal.

I will not abandon my child. Go, if you must. I’m staying here.

After all, no good deed should go unpaid, and I have another train to catch.

You’re not even scared when I kidnap you anymore!