Kate Ryan

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

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

"No self-respecting journalist or publication would ever hire someone who employs the word 'sh--' as a title for anything."

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.

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.

She gropes for attention while he dies in the other room.

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

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.