(100 words) There are things that go bump in the night. They don’t live under our beds or in our closets. They live inside of us.
(475 words) – I’m rifling through my shrinking sac of supplies, listening to the fire pop and crackle behind me. Then I hear it. A crackle, sure, but not of the ember variety… someone is behind me.
I was fifteen. You were four. I taught you drama in a Scarborough community centre. You were surviving neglect.
To them, she was just a monster. A girl who refused to take her yellow pills — as if she owed society her complacency after the shit hand it had dealt her.
(100 words) Sweet, but deadly…
(470 words) Ellie sits still, engulfed in blackness. She breathes in slowly through her nose and exhales heavily through her lips, until she becomes rather weightless. She’s ready.
It’s 7:07 pm. The house is still. The forest is quiet. But Lucia is about to break a rule.
The Memorist looked tired; exhausted even. It was an exhausting thing she did for people, taking on their memories.
(Based on Grimms’ Sleeping Beauty) It had been only a single gasp of air that alerted her to the trouble.
(A re-imagining of Grimm’s Rapunzel) It began with a peculiar blossom. The winter had been long and frigid and barren, but for a tiny blossoming plant outside her window.