Bread molds before the expiration date: someone will catch a cold this winter.
The dishtowel has a hole in it: something missing will be found.
Scissors fall with their blades shut: a guest is coming.
Scissors fall with their blades open: someone is having murderous thoughts.

This story is part three of three. Part two is “Emily’s Notes.”
Kids are always putting me in their pictures. I don’t mind; I feel for them. Their fathers, doctors, hand-wringing mothers — they all get it wrong. I’m not what goes into their crooked little skulls. I am what comes out.

This story is part two in a series. Part one is “Sociopath’s Notes.”
After they took her I went back to my old name. I cut my hair close to my scalp, gave up milk, became austere. I had lived so long in a parody of boldness.
“You can’t hurt me,” I would shout whenever I […]