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Title: Flash Frog – Small. Brightly colored. Deadly to the touch.
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Heat squats on the block. The hydrant’s cap is leaned sideways with a broom handle wedged in, and water arcs over the street in bright ropes. Older kids run through, skidding, shrieking. It smells like iron and pennies.
She stands at the curb, new enough that the names still feel like buttons she hasn’t learned to fasten. The spray cools her shins. Her flip-flops st...
Let’s bury him there, in the mulch, I say. Where the ground is soft.
In my roses? my wife asks.
The roots of the maple in our yard burrow and twist beneath the foundation of our home, raise the concrete on the sidewalk out front. My shoulder aches. I press the heel of my hiking boot onto the step of the shovel, shift my weight, and the earth crumbles.
...We weren’t supposed to talk about what we saw when we looked through the neighbors’ bedroom window. We weren’t supposed to kneel side-by-side in the tree house, or press our faces against the unfinished pine planks, ragged with splinters that burrowed into our soft cheeks. We weren’t supposed to peer through the gap in the window where the curtains didn’t touch. We weren’t su...
Two boys build a sand castle at the edge of the earth. Their father watches at a distance, pushing his toes into the sand. It’s not actually quiet—thunderous waves folding in on themselves, wind blitzing sand like shrapnel—just feels that way when the world is louder than you are. The young boys are clumsy and ambitious. The father is proud.
The castle grows. A risi...
They all hear the crowd, a whooshing roar, a sound like a train entering a tunnel.
But there is no crowd, just a weed-choked backyard, a chain-link fence chattering when the wind blows, the whooshing roar, the voices of ghosts.
There is no ring announcer, but they all hear him too, voice bright and crackling like a Fourth of July sparkler: “Ladies and gent...
