At night he could hear her rustling the curtain. He would whisper his questions to her.
Its characters and events, while sinister, are plausible: an uncomfortable mirror to our own world.
There’s an our kind and a their kind.
I was Indiana Jones, hanging from a rope above a pit of snakes, my moves skilled and sure. My recorder was below, begging to be rescued like whatever unrealistic female heroine Jones would fall in love with and then totally forget about by the sequel.
Dantiel W. Moniz’s debut story collection, Milk Blood Heat, pulsates with the everyday horrors of being alive.
Out here, she knew, was his sanctuary, away from his daughter’s problems. Here, only these more easily governed fruits of his labor existed.
I was just taking some time off, I told myself. From college. But more and more it felt like from life.
The baby is so small, lying there on the changing table. If she fell she would surely break, maybe die. The woman repeats this: I cannot let you die, baby. I cannot let you die.
Morgenstern’s work is a novel for the book lovers and the story fanatics. It is the reader’s paradise, filled with reading nooks, secret libraries, mysterious books, and attractive storytellers.
His mind raced over a series of firsts. The first time he used a men’s room; the first time a man took him for another man; the first time a woman did, and the first time one flirted with him; the first time he introduced himself with his new male name.