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Short story: Eight Thirty Five AM

I keep my head down as I walk along, and it feels like I'm in a black and white movie, travelling lack-lustrely in the same direction as everyone else on the street as though we are a dull shoal of fish in blacks and greys.

Short story: The Train

Every day when I get on the train to go to work, I stand with my toes just over the yellow safety line as my small act of rebellion for the morning.

Short story: Quiet Desperation

picture of a man with a briefcase

Maybe I go to work every morning at six.

Short story: Monday morning

Eliza sat demurely at her workstation, waiting for the digital clock in front of her to flick its ugly grey numbers over to read 8:30.

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