by Tammy L. Breitweiser The average heart is the size of a fist in an adult. She steps nose to nose with the mirror and studies the charcoal, violet, and crimson mark across her left eye. It matches the size of his heart. What she sees are her pores large and gapping. She would have to pick up some treatment. Read More
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Explainable Earthquakes
by Tammy L. Breitweiser The fancy folding chairs are arranged in soldier rows facing the front. A movie theater of grief; only one showing. All sounds are muffled like there are bunnies lining the walls. Low music plays distinctive to a funeral home. You never hear it anywhere else. To describe it becomes impossible and lives in the same fog Read More
Ironic Honeymoon
by Tammy L. Breitweiser The officer told me Grayson didn’t feel anything. The impact was quick. It’s what the officer claimed anyway. What I will tell you is I bolted upright in bed at 4:56 a.m. and knew. I just knew. I can assure you he felt the impact because I felt it. It had been a fairly typical morning. Read More