Kate Ryan

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

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

Alison learned from her grandmother how a plastic smile could take you places—especially in a place like Hollywood.

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.