“Kathryn Laidlaw. You have been found guilty by a jury of your peers. Yours is one of those cases where I find myself frustrated by sentencing guidelines. The crimes of which you have been found guilty should not be taken lightly.” Once upon a time,
Janice bought the doll for fifteen bucks at a secondhand shop. She would have paid twenty. Shit, she’d have paid fifty. The doll was the most beautiful thing that Janice had ever seen. She wore a purple velvet dress and a choker at her neck.
I was going to tell you a story. It was about a temporary worker whose security pass took her through the stationery cupboard door. The door was a portal to the afterlife. She faced a choice about dying and staying, or going back and being
Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Like so many days condensed into so many minutes. We tumble into rubber seats, slapdash, sideways, upside-down. We feel the pull of the carousel as it spins, pushing us outward, pulling us back. Sometimes we laugh. If the carousel goes fast
Shona had only turned back for a second. Sometimes her son’s silence made her more anxious than his cries. He was happy though, flipping through a picture book, his legs kicking out from the child seat. She felt the movement of the car beneath her.
There is a place where only pumpkins grow. Imagine, pumpkins all around, a galaxy of orange stars. In January snow, they grow. In April rain, they thrive. In June, July, when the sun smiles, ever bigger the pumpkins grow. August, September, as we trade the