From the apartment’s stairwell, sodium-lit from the streetlamps, came a strident scream — which all heard, but to which no one responded.

The rainbow’s end seemed to taper onto his house. “Pot of gold?” he asked himself, then smirked. The mole in the yard must have stolen it.

Kiss me. If only the words were her own. Lips about to meet, she moved away, smiling graciously. Applause. His heart sank. The curtain fell.

Two lovers in a rowboat. My wife and her assistant. Their lake is oil dark, still, but dangerous. Like me.

The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door. He fired his gun…. He liked being alone.

Dad’s gone again. In a rage, Mom tears up his photo. But then we try to put the pieces back together, afraid that he might never come back.