"Dolores sat and wept in pain until the early hours of the morning. With what strength she had after her shock, she dragged herself across the room, pulling herself through shattered glass from family portraits and the scattered contents of her nightstand drawers."
The second part of a serialized story
Doña Dolores was a wretched woman.
Sitting on the veranda with her coffee cup, Her grey hair braided up, The lonely lady Carmen turns her eyes up
Morning at the coffeeshop Cheating traffic, the back-roads White clouds, the pale sky Parking near water, a book Midday at the bay, the breeze Water on your feet and scallop shells My sister’s laughter—baby mischief, feeling glad Scanning the view, white sails White rocks, sand, beach grass Sunsets, borrowed sunglasses Old friends Newer music Bonfires...
"Dad, there’s something in the pool.”
I hate the thought of someday passing down the name Mahoney to my kids, and explaining to them that their name deprives them of a history.
by Katie Duggan, Mikaela Gerwin, Oscar Mahoney, Will Rivitz, Zach Cohen on
Feb 28, 2016 • No Comments
We asked our stable of unstable writers to reflect on fear — personal, conceptual, metaphysical. They started with 300 words and narrowed focus and word count, by halves.