Heaven in a Drop of Water. Like dancing spiders, streams of water course vagrantly along my arms and chest until they converge, cascading and disappearing into the drain. At first I resisted the transition of my father but then I remembered a moment long ago as a child when he explained to me his preferred way of dying.

She took two sugar cubes in chemistry. We saw her in the halls for the rest of the school day, but we were invisible. We offered consoling smiles met with a blank stare, a flutter of the eyelashes. I found an Ann Beretta poster for free on South Street and brought it home on the train that weekend. I wrote her a letter on the back of it.

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Alexander Yosif Ivanovitch shuffled unsteadily across the worm-eaten floor of his dilapidated dacha. His calloused feet scraped along the warped boards to the kitchen, picking up splinters as he went. Already the sun had set and yet Mila had not woken. Taking up the spoon, he rapped the egg soundly. Then, peeling off the shell, he dug in the spoon and pulled up the first bite. What was this? Mila, what nonsense is this? He demanded, my egg has no yolk! No answer, eh? Ivanovitch tore .