“The challenge,” the old woman whispered, “is to never stop creating yourself.” Silver hair, pale skin became golden feathers—she flew away.
“I am really a genius. I could have written great novels or poetry.” “But you didn’t.” “No,” he flipped the TV channel, “but I could have.”
Every morning, she sits in the lobby, her purse and coat beside her. “My son is coming,” she tells the nurses. “He’s going to take me home.”
The new theme park featured rides like “Boss from Hell,” “A Broken Marriage,” and “Descent into Debt.” It was a big hit with grown-ups.
He looked seventy, and his shoes looked older. “Can I have a bag of popcorn?” he pleaded, his neck craning over the counter. No one came.
Dave dreaded many things about returning to school. Which lunch table to join? The abuse. Not fitting in. Bullies. Why did he pick teaching?