Kate Ryan

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.