“…round…around…around…red, on black, on blue…” The old painter-woman pauses, her attention listing to the juicy black fly that buzzes around the sweltering, wallpapered room where she lay. She does not watch the fly—cannot, in her growing blindness—but lolls with it, following the sound as it moves from the outer edges of the room’s damp wallsContinue reading “The Artist’s Lot”
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Lita
We’d already been going there for weeks. And we’d learned a few things about that old house, the tall thin one with too many stories it seemed. Like how we all felt safer in one room with all the doors closed, or that it was better to light three candles than one. Or that if meContinue reading “Lita”
Jessica Barratt 