Jeremy Ray

Twine cries as she lights her hand-made rocket. I don’t like you that way. She hears Starke’s words again and again as if they just happened. The tears pour as Twine runs for cover. She tried everything to kill her love for him. Eventually she realized her love for him was forever. It would outlast her own […]

Silly, the word, reminisced. The 1100s, its infancy, were idyllic days. People saw silly as happy and blessed. That changed in the 1200s. People convinced silly it couldn’t be happy without being pious, so it aligned itself with the righteous. But in the 1300s piety lost its zest: to be pious was to be pitied.

Every night, Vera woke her mom and dad with her screams. ​ “There’s a monster in my closet,” she’d say. ​ They’d turn on the lights, show her there was nothing there. They thought it would pass; it didn’t. They’d wake to her sobbing in the hallway. ​ “He says he’s coming for me,” she’d

Thirteen-year-old Lucy holds herself in bed as she sobs. ​ The kids’ never-ending bullying at school. Her mother calling her a whore. Her stepfather sneaking into her room at night. ​ “I can’t take it anymore!” she wails. ​ Her bed creaks as a weight sinks down next to her. ​ She flinches. But it’s

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Fido the Pitbull whimpers when he thinks about his owner. He wonders where old men go when their bodies stop moving. He wonders if it’s his fault and that’s why he’s behind bars. ​ Jailers give him toys, treats, and cuddles. But no one takes him home. ​ A couple visit him sometimes. The man

She keeps tapping her phone as she waits by their car. This has become her habit over the course of the last thirty minutes. The minutes won’t even roll over; they just stare back at her, rubbing in the fact that she’ll be late the rest of the day. She should’ve never run errands with

Everyone knows where they were May 13th, 2018, 18:34 Coordinated Universal Time, The Day the World Screamed—the day their neighbor/their co-worker/their friend unzipped its human skin and flew up into the sky. We’d later compare them to dragonflies. The way the green-red insectoids peeled out from human flesh. The way their four giant wings fluttered

“You okay?” asked Sven. He stirred his drink and smiled at Ingrid. She sat, cross-armed, eyeing him like a potential mugger. “It’s just coffee, relax.” “I have things to do,” she huffed. And she did–she had very important lab samples to run. This was inconvenient. She thought herself immune to frivolous things like human feelings.

Into her black-leather high-heel boots, she slides. And her black elbow-length gloves. All whilst he smiles in his office of bullet-proof glass. ​ He does not hear her clacking heels down his hall. But he knows… oh, he knows… ​ The smiles melt from his devotee’s faces. They, too, sense her approaching. They mark the