Luke Wills pressed the oak through the band saw, dividing the plank in two. In the shed where he worked, he liked to stand barefoot in the inch-thick sawdust, his worn corduroy pants tucked under his heels. Above the saw hung a battery-powered lantern, which he unhooked and held in front of a drawer of awls and chisels. With his other hand, he pressed his left temple, which was awkwardly bandaged with half a roll of gauze, stretched all the way around his head from his jaw up to his crown, through the tangles of his wild hair and long, curly beard. He had slipped at the creek that afternoon and landed right on his temple on a craggy boulder. His head was throbbing, and he still could not get the gash to stop bleeding. He redressed the wound with the other half of the roll of gauze...

This story was originally published by MP (Magnolia's Press) in May 2011. Click here to read the full story.

Our Bed

Henry walked into the kitchen of his apartment, where Leslie, in plaid pajamas, sat at the table reading a book. She sat cross-legged like a young girl.

They both knew she was dead. He hadn’t seen her since the accident two years before, but to see her sitting there—it looked and felt perfectly natural to Henry.

This story was originally published by Medulla Review. Click here to read the full story.

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