A new priority crowded out all that had been previously important to Johnette Crabtree. She made things with wire, twigs, dried apple slices, and creamy peanut butter. Guests found the mobiles uncomely as they spun above bed rails, or the commodes. Finches liked Johnette's artistry just fine. However, Johnette's days of genteel hospitality were drawing…

Nell bought a pair of idiotic shoes with money she didn't have. She bought the heels to impress, then berated herself for thinking anyone cared how her feet were shod. Those feet, heels or no, would be concealed behind a desk, if she got the job. A person, a very rude person, with too much…

  eyesight blurredjoints knotted and lockedcalvin surveyed his domain: large field littered with car parts and livestockin the deep shadowby the brook with its rainbow sheenbroken doorwindow screenrotted timbers surrounded a garden ofmole holes and yellow funguscalvin wandered over hisparadise misplacedwondered where he'd lost his touch not much left to keep calvin satisfied in thebeyond…

My nightly guests, gauzy shamblers that they are, request hot cocoa filled mugs upon arrival. I don't dare skimp on the dark chocolate shavings and marshmallows, either. And there must always be dunkers. Tonight is a sugar cookie night. I devote the time to blend and roll, fold and bake because my transparent brethren are…

    Tossed out in plain view for everyone to scratch his head and state an opinion. This is exactly why Georgette recoils when she is asked: "What are you working on?" She doesn't much like: "When's it gonna be done," either. But the dd/mm/yyyy one isn't as intrusive as "The What Question." Georgette's creative,…

Gary bristled when his mother, Catherine, made the suggestion he be more relatable. He asked for clarification: relatable to what? Catherine told her son 'people.' Start with people. That'd be good. Gary cringed at the prospect of a spit-shined and lesser version of himself. He knew what he knew; couldn't "unknow" Euclid's theorem and all…

To prove she will not be wedged, artistically speaking, into any form of pigeonhole, Darla Varney creates storage cubbies in addition to her works constructed from rags, rocks, and scrap metal. Darla's little chambers are popular with the flea market crowd. Nice, roomy squares to hide treasure. Dark recesses to hold keys or Cabernet. Everyone…

Darla rented a stall at the local flea market. Every Saturday and Sunday she'd pack up her wares and ask the sky for a weekend of brisk sales. Darla knitted potholders, crocheted doilies, and wove rags into rugs. She polished river rock to make paper weights. Wood scraps got sanded, words lettered carefully, and lacquer…

The grey-green clouds were the first indication I'd stepped off the bus and into the wrong neighborhood. I held my breath until my lungs burned, then I choked down the moist, heavy air around me. I thought for sure I'd be dead in seconds from poison, but I survived. The air tasted like liver and…

The vapour materialized without provocation. Mist billowed from hollowed out trunks and turned the atmosphere rank. Bebe knew better than to be stranded on the road as the storm approached, but then she was a reckless woman. Precipitation laid an easy escape to waste, and Bebe slipped on one of her many transgressions. Her mistakes…