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5 stories/150 words
by R.E. Hartman
My tea calmed herself as the eggs lay bleeding all over the toast. I replaced the knife, but at a safer distance this time. I told the waitress not to brew her so strong.
***
They'll never find the body. But to remind myself of her — and to drown out the morning pangs of conscience — I have a loud and obnoxious alarm clock.
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Michael usually kept quiet. He wasn't sure of himself, and others took advantage. They used his voice to say horrible things, and trying to explain it all only made it worse.
***
By rights, he should've been dead. Instead, he was just left more depressed and without much of a face. Kyle didn't realize that you could build up a tolerance to suicide attempts.
***
The court watches from unnoticed shadows and unused corners, from the moments of darkness between our dreams. And there you sit reading, not even bothering to prepare a defense.
A writer between bouts of work, R.E. Hartman lives in Oakland, California. He has had various short stories published in web magazines, as well as several philosophical essays published in various academic journals and books.
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