The bug bite was more than just an itch or nuisance; it was the first domino that would topple mankind.

When my treasures piled up, ignoring the mess seemed best option. Now I’m on TV. Helping, they say. Wish they’d leave so I can go shopping.

He took her away on his new boat, gleaming with polished wood and leather. She came back alone, smelling of saltwater and bleach.

She stares into the sea. She spots a speck and hopes it’s him. They shake their heads and walk by. She’s been here for ten years now.

It rained so hard that I was two hours late picking her up. I found her sitting alone on the school steps, in a puddle of her own making.

Birches line the snow swept highway. Beyond my headlights they lurk, they leer. Bony fingers beckoning. I comply, listing to their arms.