Fiction

 

 

Careen
Margaux Fragoso

Careen left the abortion clinic at exactly five thirty-three in the afternoon. She knew this because she promptly checked her watch, a Mickey Mouse watch that her boyfriend Terrence had given her for her birthday just last month. She'd just turned nineteen. She stepped off the curb on Montgomery Avenue and turned left. This was a sleazy section of downtown Jersey City. She knew by the way the men eyed her, dressed as unbecomingly as she was--in a gray sweatshirt with a Coke stain in the front, baggy jeans, her hair pulled back harshly from her naked face. Her mother had always called an unmade face naked, and she agreed. She was punishing herself today by not looking good.    Read Story

 

Daughterly Advice
Thaddeus Rutkowski

She asks me if I miss my father, and I say, "Yes, sometimes."

She's known for quite a while that she's never met my father because he's not around.

That is, he's not around on Earth.

"Do you miss him a lot?" she asks.

"Not a lot."

"Why not?"  Read Story