“A Simple Mistake” by Chris Gough
He wasn’t sure of the name—Michelle, Danielle, one of those. They’d only meet eight hours earlier . . .
He wasn’t sure of the name—Michelle, Danielle, one of those. They’d only meet eight hours earlier . . .
I can’t get out of my seat belt fast enough. . . .
The Woodsman takes a nip of rum and stares out from under the brim of his battered ball cap. “Fucking Green Hell,” he mutters under his breath . . .
Eddie had always been a quiet man. Living on the outskirts of the village meant he was always met with a curious but hesitant eye. The village children were always warned to stay away from him . . .
At night you lie awake, kept up by the sounds of running feet and children’s eerie laughter . . .
Beautiful spring day in Ohio. Laundry room in the basement. Hanging clothes on the inside line from the dryer so they won’t be a wrinkled mess. My son, as usual, hungry for a snack. How does he always know when I don’t want to be interrupted in the middle of a task? . . .
February is like Tuesday: second best, like me. January at least has the distinction of being first and has that New Year’s resolution hype going for it, and Mondays are loved for being hated. But February is just dirty snow with sky to match, and Tuesday is Monday’s everlasting yawn . . .
Fast Freddy died slow. He’d been on his way out for damn near two decades. In most respects he’d died with Lucky . . .