+ 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…

Norman stood knee-deep in the Niagara River with his hand on the custom-made barrel as it bobbed in the shallow water, its anvil ballast resting against the rocky bottom. Toward the middle of the river, water crashed and slapped violently against jagged rocks. “You ready?” Bill yelled over the sound of the river. Norman nodded.…

The window open to catch the last of the lilac day, we consider the remains of the feast, me and Lisette and Geraldine. The burned clove syrup pooled beneath enough ham for two weeks of sandwiches, one tired deviled egg I’m going to gulp any minute, a few asparagus spears gone chartreuse. No potatoes left,…

Months after his student stopped coming to class, she was taking his order at the Starbucks drive-thru two towns over from the campus — and apartment — they had once shared. He knew her voice through the speaker: gravelly and smoker-like, though her papers and tests never smelled like smoke. He could always tell the…

I told him I would wait here. My legs dangle off the thin concrete pier, and my shoes slip over my heel and hang on my toes like fingertips over a ledge. This dress was so expensive, but it is suffocating and long. The humid air compresses the viscose lining against my body, and the…

I didn’t know my first wedding would be my last, anyone’s last, until the dance floor was almost empty and I was matching my mouth up with the lipstick mark on the rim of an abandoned champagne glass. It was late, though I couldn’t tell you much about time by that stage; the bar, you…

After the party I felt very cool in my long, slim black dress, and through the French doors, I could feel the morning’s overcast grey. August. Six am. British Isles. The restlessness. I did not know what to do with myself after all the guests had left but I was still cresting on adrenaline the…

1. The way I see it, the Tower of Babel was probably just a ladder and an idea: I want to see the face of God. But God doesn’t seem to like anyone questioning his wounding. That’s all I learned, reading the Bible during the few years I insisted on trying the church thing out.…

The little men have been missing from Yuvie’s apartment for two weeks now. She knows they used to be there, hiding under the bed, sneaking into the pantry at night. She’d see them as she loaded the dishwasher from the corner of her eye. Yuvie knows it isn’t technically possible for there to be little…

My wife, Claire, is standing barefoot in the sandbox. “Come here,” she says, and I step in. “Take your shoes off?” she asks. The sand is cool underneath my socks. “Just stay here a sec,” she says. She’s holding the same slip of yellow paper I received after work. A policeman had passed them out…

Today at work, Steve had his annual review. It didn’t go well. His sales numbers have been falling lately — hard to sell anything in this economy — and he’s taking it extremely personally. He knows that technically his ability to sell air conditioning systems doesn’t reflect his character, but also, he feels strongly that…