Near Paulo's home, in the rich deep earth, dark eggs lay. They waited for decades, to be brought to hatch. When they hatched, they hatched death, or dismemberment, bursting forth with all the energy ... [+]
Originally published in Calgary's Central Library Short Story Dispenser
Maria had never been in love. But when she first saw a tiny sprout push its way through the tile floor, she felt something tighten inside her belly. She sat in her father's wooden rocking chair, his unlit pipe held between her teeth, watching. Days later, there were three leaves on the little plant instead of one. Maria lived in the same pink house on the narrow street near the river her whole life, even after her parents passed away. Every evening, she sat in the wooden chair, knitting or reading. The rest of her spare time, she would bake, which was why the children of the neighborhood loved