Shrieking wails, carried by the churning wind above, deafens me as the darkness steals my sight.
A breeze tousled the silver birches that loomed above the trail, provoking a flurry of golden autumn leaves.
Some years before, I had moved to a coastal town thinking that fortune smiled on writers in picturesque places.
Today, May 3rd, the weather is splendid.
When we live our lives on the edge, with no regard for how we conduct ourselves or how we treat our mates, it’s no surprise that consequences usually follow.
Illustration by Andres Garzon It was a long drive back from the cottage. We awoke hungover in […]
Wandering endless bleached earth.
My father’s funeral was on a Tuesday, on my mother’s birthday.
“You’re late, Isaac.”
Halloween night 1955: a Volkswagen Beetle hit nine-year-old Erika on Decarie Boulevard, corner Monkland Avenue. Notre-Dame-de-Grâce borough.