Lenore Weiss

I was first introduced to Octavia Butler in a writing class at San Francisco State University. We read a selection from one of her books, just enough to make me

Vernon and Jay got together on most Sunday afternoons to practice guitar. They sat in Vernon’s garage. The door was open and wouldn’t close. A lawn mower balanced off kilter

Lila’s shadow was caught in the wheels of a shopping cart as she moved toward the automatic opening doors. Walmart’s entrance was blocked by rows of bicycles backed up to

It happened during a green and sticky almost summer two months before the end of sixth grade. It seemed like my past didn’t exist anymore. I sat inside my house

Fear rose in her throat and hollowed out her stomach—lost with no idea how to get home. Liana kept watching the plumed purple bird that flew quickly through the trees.

My best friend’s dog hung himself, but it wasn’t exactly my fault. The dog’s name was Albert. His ears were his best feature—floppy in an adorable sort of way with