"The patient was crossing a street when he was struck by a vehicle. He was flung about 12 feet according to paramedics. He was unresponsive at the scene and unable to give any history."

He’s been dead well over a year now, yet his nightly visits continue.

“Evie, we need to do something tonight you may not like, and I hope you’ll say it’s okay.” I thought maybe Paul wanted to try a new restaurant. Maybe go out with his theater office staff and not include me.…

Today in the woods, I saw spittlebugs on the branches of plants—small pieces of spit. Even after the gang left, I stayed in the yard that day, and it reminded me of our downstairs neighbor, Mr. Fentley. “See these? They’re…

Light was glinting off the candelabra. It’s not often you see a hundred year old candelabra in a track house. I should get up and help his mom. Debbi had been hosting us all weekend. I loved her house, the…

Outside of my dreams Hate even thinking about being outside of my dreams, much less doing it. I know that life is about failures and imperfection. But my dreams still pulse with energy. I often feel skeptical and afraid, but…

Outside the window Manhattan glowed. The setting sun lit every surface with a warmth Marla could feel. She plopped down on her couch and lit a cigarette. "They don't allow smoking, do they?" Her friend Denise opened the oversized glass…

My mother said she couldn't wait for my father to appear in her dreams. I wish I could remember when she said that--whether it was the week of his memorial service in February, or in early March, when I flew…

Sometimes I feel like I have the most privileged life, and then other times I wonder why the fuck this happened to me. What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment? How did I get taken advantage of…

Actually, I don't have a dream journal. Yet, as I think more of todays prompt, I recall how many times I wish I would have documented the fantasies and actual events that have occurred in my mind while sleeping. For…

Nora hadn’t planned her take on the stolen kiss. But when all had been tolled and tallied, she wasn’t sorry she’d done it. She took what she needed–what she could finally acknowledge she very much wanted–and left the rest behind.…

The orchestration of a character lives in some hollow space between writer and imagination. Think of a room at the end of hall. "Bluey" plays through the closed door. Kids call for milk. The writer sits on the rocker that…