Nonfiction – Issue 11

She stands at the mirror, staring at her reflection for what seems like a long time, waiting to see how quickly the puffiness will go down, learning that the answer is not fast enough. . .

Every good story starts with a dead mother. Nothing worth doing is possible until she dies.

Even a bookstall harbors the energy of a huge bookshop, books falling off its edges. You and I fell off a bench once. Gravity tricked me into thinking that it was fate, love, us, falling. . .