It comes every year. For one hot week in August, children arrive for their first, or another, mechanical thrill. Others return for the nostalgia of stepping back in time, because…

These razor blades are no good. She rakes through the drawer again. They’re all the same, dull blades rusting in a dusty junk drawer for too long. “He'll be home…

The dead children were fawning on the grass, like they were sheepish of their deaths. Although they had been dead for years, their cheeks were still rosy, still flushed. Some…

Margot sips her coffee. It’s strong, bitter, the way she likes it. Henri used to say she likes her coffee the same way as his fellow soldiers. He saw it…