Jake hovers at the intersection—as he always does...

If I took on that mess of memories I’d been lost in, and picked carefully, I might shape them into stories.

If only hands were like antennae, ant-like extensions of the brain, they could have touched each other’s thoughts.

Then came the day when a ghost appeared through the blackboard and into the classroom.

Stanley tried so hard to convince himself that he was indeed who he wanted, who he needed to be.