Kate Ryan

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

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

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

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

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.

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.

My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.