I slept at the counter with my head on the till. Each night, having failed to fill it, it filled my dreams instead

Then, from behind the bar a melodic voice pulled him back. “What’ll it be then,” called the voice.

I grew you in my mind, blooming flourishes onto your perfect template.

Can you see images of flames? Of a fiery horizon burning scarlet against a star-scattered void?

Everyone cried, I am sure, except for the boy, who stared, transfixed, into the box

Here’s what happened when you were attacked by a werewolf: You got eaten or you survived. But you weren’t out of the woods if you lived.

In Chicago, he cuts a jogger’s throat and leaves her under a park bench, then brings home a fashion doll with a real leather jacket.

I like to think I have a good relationship with the elves in my home. I buy a little extra at the supermarket to make a second portion...