I'm with stupid. It's Jerry's favorite T-shirt. He wears it all the time. It doesn't matter where we're going, he'll wear the shirt. Church, court, the museum-- he just shrugs his shoulders and gives me that grin when I ask him not to wear it. The more inappropriate the occasion, the more it seems to spur him to wear it.

Jerry's never really cared about impressions, that I get. But he also doesn't seem to get that I do. Sometimes, I think he gets some sick pleasure out of watching me squirm while he's talking to a prospective client at...

Vanquished. Again.

How many times is this going to happen, just in the course of one day? How many times can you suffer defeat at the hands of your enemy? Even if that enemy is your coworker, how can you really stomach it happening over and over?

It's such a small thing, really. Who will empty the trash doesn't seem like something that could cause so much strife, but you're not going to do, and he's not going to do it, and it's just not going to get done. You keep looking up over your desk to see if it's...

Vanquished.

Seriously, that's how it felt as I walked down the hall back to homeroom. My hands were in the front pockets of my jeans, my head was down. I felt as if all the wind had been taken from my sails. A strong breeze could have knocked me over and I would have just curled up in a fetal ball in front of the beige steel lockers. When the bell rang, people would just step around me as I tried to become more and more invisible.

Mr. Garsh said he was sympathetic. I think they tell him to say...

The children were not at school. The administrators voice continued to echo tinnily in her ear, but she wasn't listening any more. The children were not at school. Their backpacks still sat on the stairs near the landing by the front door. The morning sunlight poured in through the kitchen window as she let the phone slip from her grasp to dangle from its cord, banging slightly against the wall.

She had told them to go away, to leave her alone. She turned looking down the hallway towards the front door, looking at the backpacks sitting on the landing next...

The sun brushed against the back of her neck as she walked towards the corral. Her hands fidgeted with the rope, looping it and unlooping it, her fingers running along the rough hemp braids, pausing at the bands of electrical tape marking hand holds.

Gus held his hand out to help her up onto the fence as she reached the edge of the corral, a smile splitting his tanned face. "You ready?" he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.

She nodded as she reached the top of the fence. Inside the corral, her horse stood saddled, its side pressing against...

The wind is picking up outside. It's unsesnoabley warm. The announcer on the television rattles off a list of counties that are under the warning. Leaves scuttle along the patio outside the window. There is no fear, just curiosity, a little confusion. People step outside to gander at the sky. The voice on the tube implores us to take cover, yet we continue to look out the windows. Thunder rumbles in the distance. People sit on the swing set, passing cigarettes and smiling. It is always calmest, right at this

How tiny. That was all she could think as she held it in her hand, how tiny it was, how tiny every feature of it was, the eyes, the scaly pro to-feathers, the beak, even the little talons, how exquisitely tiny to hold such intricate detail. She could feel the small heart fluttering through the fragile body into the palm of her hand. How tiny.

It moved slightly, shifting it's head slightly to cast a dark eye up at her. It wouldn't last long. They never did, when she found them like this. She'd tried to save the first couple...

Pension. Never thought I would make it this far. The job was ridiculous, stand there, make sure the machine hit the same spot every time, stop the line when it missed and clear the jam as quickly as possible to get the line running as fast as you can.

I never thought of it as a career. I guess I never really thought of anything as a career. It paid the bills, put food on the table and clothes on the kids back. It help us make the house payments, the car payments, the TV payments. It was simple enough,...

I usually feel it when the leaves start to fall, when the sky drains of color, when the air grows chilly and listlessly stirs the dead leaves on the sidewalk. I can feel part of my brain start to shut down, as it has done year after year, about this time, when the leaves start to fall. They tell me it is chemical, but that can't explain the piercing of my heart, the emotional pain that causes me to shudder as fear and sadness begin to grow in my chest. And I can't stand to look another human in the...

When it started growing, it really started growing. Guisseppe spotted it one morning as he rolled his fruit cart into the market, a strange, brilliantly green shoot pushing its way up through the cobblestones, defiantly pointing towards the sky. The next morning it had doubled in size. Guisseppe had tried to pull it up, but it stubbornly clung to ground, remaining entrenched in the stones at the edge of the market.

Over the next several days, it shot up several stories, its thick green trunk bursting through the ground, its flat broad leaves opening and gathering in the sun. No...