Two 55 Word Stories: In Other Rooms; and Emily, Emily

In Other Rooms

In the basement, one corner has no light bulb.  It’s where Barbie goes when she’s mad; I give the corvette a push into the shadows.  I drape my bruised body in mom’s shawls.  Above, dad drinks to Deep Purple.  I see the trees from where the wild things live loom over me in pencil scratches.

Emily, Emily

It came in the night.  I woke to it lifting my sheets; it made my nightgown bleed.  My doll saw it all so I ripped out her eyes before breakfast.  It came in the sunlight and singed my lips so I gave it my voice.  I choked out a doll that burned.  I ran, hungry.


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