Sugar Pop (Honorable mention, Pure Fiction contest, Chicago Reader)
When the alarm buzzed Rosa awake, she knew she wasn’t going to give the old man extra sugars that day. Every Saturday, he asked for ten packets. She had begun calling him Sugar Pop. Nobody in their right mind would dump ten packets day after day into one small Styrofoam cup of coffee… more
His skin prickled. “Evie?” he mumbled. “Evie?”
Something rubbery and heavy pressed to his lips. He strained for a sound that would measure the distance between him and the army. Surely, he would have time to hide. The soldiers had paused to eat, he guessed. Jesson sniffed for smoke, but only caught alcohol and a meaty whiff of blood… more
The Quiet Company, Tomorrow (Kayelle Press)
It appeared on the third morning, beneath the outdoor basketball hoop. Flesh dripped off like a too-thick milkshake. I saw a gleam across the breast bone, raw and slick with blood: a cheerleader’s top like mine, emblazoned with the golden “V” of the Fighting Mustangs of Littlefield High School.