Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
Curled into a ball on the bed.Better off dead. Better off dead.Relentless mantra in my head.Better off dead. Better off dead.Turn on back and before my eyes,life’s report card flashes by,a bottomless column of F and I.Better off dead. Better off dead.Too tired to cry. Too sick for why.How should
“We should get a cat for Cole,” said Brad to Alice. “A pet would do him some good.” Alice looked to Brad from behind her “#1 Mom” coffee cup. She pulled the muffin he was about to grab away from him. “Remember what the doctor said?” Brad’s face fell, but
The Deer I They would fire on three. Red leaves, yellow leaves, green leaves. The shot—like the birth of his son. The leaves. The animal. The son cowered in the bushes. The father took the son’s gun and counted. One through six bullets. The son had not fired the gun.