A woman walked into the kitchen to find her husband
stalking around with a fly swatter.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Hunting flies,” he replied.
“Oh, killed any?” she said.
“Yep, 3 males, 2 females,” came the answer.
Intrigued, the wife asked,
“How can you tell them apart?”
Husband: “3 were on a beer can, 2 were on the phone.”
He looked like the boy next door. The one who shoveled driveways, earned merit badges, waved shyly at neighbors who never looked twice. But the life he…
Grief doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it hides behind closed doors, behind a face that won’t crack, behind a man who walks away before the dust has even…
It started with a mark. A ring of scars, too deliberate to be random, too quiet to be harmless. You’ve seen it before, without really seeing it—on…
The stench hit first, thick and wrong, curling into his lungs like a warning. He thought it was pests, a nest, a nuisance he could pay someone…
He walked away from her. That’s the part he can’t rewrite, no matter how many scripts he’s handed or how many lights burn his name across a…
The room froze when she spoke. A toddler, barely two, stood in the middle of a police station begging to confess a crime, clutching a stuffed rabbit…