It is a cold night and Olivia has left me. I would attempt telling you about it, but the empty corners of my room have more to say. I’m too busy falling apart. What can I say? It is a cold night, Olivia has left me, I am falling apart. What do you want me…

On the limestone platform jutting into the Great Sound social distancing was unfeasible, but Qisha felt obligated to stay within earshot. Dr. Brillard would perhaps care to know the names of the islands across the water, hardly more than bits of rock, or what lay beyond on the rugged horizon where the Cathedral and BELCO’s…

It’s because of the colors that she decides to do it. She’s up on the roof of their house, something she’s never done before, and the shingles are hot and rough against her skin. She digs her heels in, bracing herself, and lets go of the camera. Actually, she more tosses it because she’s a…

When he pictured himself drafted into some hopeless future war alongside every other able-bodied young man in the west, he looked forward to the level playing field this equalizing circumstance would put him on alongside the podcasters, musicians, and minor writers who were not household names but who had influenced his aesthetic sensibilities and his…

Andre doesn’t go out dancing anymore. On Saturdays, he paints these sad-boy Edward Hopper scenes. Faceless men at bus stops. Hunched guys alone in diners. Once he painted a woman on the red line, her face hidden by a tangle of blonde hair. I knew it was me. He’s lucky he’s got a steady hand…

I spy the insect as I prepare for bed. I am in my office, leaning across my desk to extinguish the small green lamp that tints the baby blue walls emerald, when a flutter of black from below catches my eye. My gaze dips, and there, atop an unopened yellow four-pack of moisturizing lip balms,…

When I opened my apartment door, my friend Sandy stood in the doorway, her clothes disheveled and stained with blood, her hair matted on both sides, twisted like stray wires. “Sandy!” I said. “Come in, you look like a wreck!” “I am a wreck,” she said. “I was just in a car accident.” “Oh no,”…

Evvy was driving the ocean side of Highway 1 along the cliffs at Big Sur, fifty years old and feeling it in her neck and hip. It was difficult to keep her eyes off the Pacific. The wave was at sixteen feet. Evvy could imagine her Toyota flying over the edge, could feel that soaring…

We know enough about medicine to know we’re dying. We know enough about dying to know we need a doctor. We know enough about doctors to appoint Art. Art’s okay. He’s supervised a calving or two, and he’s got the free time since his wife died. Calves have bodies. Wives have bodies. It’s as much…

Here you are, knees knocking against the operating table, the shape of your head shadowed on the body in front of you — no, not a body, an abdomen, a part. Pay no mind to the damp behind your neck, the thick sound of breath from your own chest. Focus: it is noon, exactly. Eight…

+ Emma Brousseau earned her MA in English/Creative Writing at Texas Tech University. She previously attended a graduate program in experimental psychology which informs the scientific and speculative aspects of her work. You can find her on Twitter @Emma_Brousseau or at emmabrousseau.com.

Sanitize your hands, sanitize your daughter’s hands, sanitize the kitchen countertops, sanitize the kitchen table, sanitize your daughter’s Nalgene water bottle, sanitize her iPod touch, sanitize her pill box, sanitize The Giver, sanitize the fluffy purple pen, sanitize your daughter’s diary, sanitize her toothbrush body, sanitize the knob to the bathroom door, sanitize your daughter’s…