Smallara

The tabletop beneath Charity felt impossibly wide, a lacquered field of wood grain stretching in every direction. The air was warm with the scent of fresh espresso and pastries, but…

Charity was inside her bag her clothes dried with a hair dryer.  Not metaphorically. Not some clever twist of fate. She was literally inside a handbag she had once bought,…

Charity awoke to the low, rhythmic snore of Alejandra beneath her. The familiar plaid bag swayed gently where it hung next to the bed. From the hook where it dangled,…

The joint burned slow between Alejandra’s fingers, the smoke curling toward the ceiling in thin, lazy ribbons. She took a long drag, her chest rising, then exhaled through her nose,…

Charity realized it halfway through.  The small dish beside her wasn’t for cleaning her hands, it was for sealing the paper. A cruel little basin of utility. Each time she…

The paper curled again.  Charity groaned, not aloud, but in that low, breathless way that lived in her chest now, where frustration couldn’t even afford the dignity of volume. Her…