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“Is that your banana?” the short cop asked her.

It wasn’t me he was aiming at; he was using me to make my mom unhappy.

He sobbed; he said he would go to therapy, stop drinking.

They felt smarter and sexier, especially when together.

A woman from the next table eyed him and he eyed her right back.

Lovers, a new set of six-word stories from Elizabeth Benedict.

She stopped, turned toward him, placed her hand on his chest.

The baby in her belly is not a sibling, will never be their playmate.

When you turn fifty, you have to prove to yourself you’ve got something left.

Mentors can suggest to you what more you are capable of.

Before sunrise I counted nine meteors scratching the heavens.

Stable-keeper’s kids know broken then healed, but healed with limits.

It was hard to know what memories or images had marked him.

Sometimes you weren’t a good daughter, the mother says.

I like to think of love as something that one should keep feeding, like a fire.

I walk across the fields with only a few young cows for company.

I sometimes have to laugh because even now, as a middle-aged man.

For days after she left him, he roamed the house, unable to function.

I found it impossible not to imagine a radiant future for myself.

Not long after Christmas, the smoke really hit Melbourne.

He’s gonna change the way we farm around here. Make it more like India.

The sedan clipped their front bumper and pitched Bill’s car into a slide.

Another girl like an origami crane, given to a reckless boy who unfolds it.

It will be years before the kids see us as real people, not just as parents.

He began singing, the words to a song that played from hidden speakers.

He was so frail, how could your heart not break when you saw him?

Who know fear is an aphrodisiac & nothing is scarier than time.

What felt like sanctity now felt like nothingness, like death.

He folds on himself like a sheet kicked off the foot of a bed.

Her previous existence seemed unreal, now, a faint rumor.