Shuffle Up

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By hombrehompson

We huddle together on the bench, waiting to see if she will appear.

Markings on the gravestone are impossible to read, eroded by rain and five years of waiting. Every anniversary we hope she will visit, a sign of forgiveness to finally set us free.

As we are about to leave we hear another presence – a car pulling up nearby. We see her, flowers in hand, searching for our grave.

She finds the bench and we shuffle up to make room, despite having no need to do so.

     
Hombre’s work has appeared in Ellipsis Zine, The Cabinet of Heed, and is forthcoming in Spelk.

Some Things Never Change

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By J.R. Night

The late hour had come and all were released from their graves. The first thing she always did was head home.

Only one window burned yellow. It went out, the window opened, and two legs edged out. Her son landed not two feet away from her.

“No sweater? In this cold?” she shouted as he passed through her, unaware.