Sometimes it feels like this is the only story I can tell. 
(Printed in Issue 2 of BA).

Vincent and the Nightingale; or How Ovid Helped Me Mythologize My Trauma

Like White Elephants

She was beautiful. Of course she was. Blurring the rest of the world seemed a worthy sacrifice just to be able to count the freckles on her cheeks. 


The Haunting of Vincent McIntyre

I inherited my ancestors’ predisposition to flightiness.


Eve Out of Eden

She had loved him once. There wasn’t love there anymore but it hung forgotten in the air anyway, stale but persisting like his cigarette smoke. 

Lucy was almost positive that the man in the waiting room was not her boyfriend. But she wasn’t sure enough to press the button. Not yet, at least.

The Man on the Other Side of the Window

Sometimes it feels like this is the only story I can tell. It’s like if I don’t make it into something profound and important, all the suffering was for nothing.

Constance Wilkinson was hosting dinner that night, and there was still too much to do. 

Good Old-Fashioned American Values

For all that it matters (which is very little as far as his wife was concerned): if you asked Adam, he thought of himself as a good person. 



Adam was the first deadbeat father (but in his defense, God had abandoned him too).

The unfortunate thing about being made out of someone else’s flesh is that you can’t hate them. That’s just you, after all.



Eve Gave Adam the Apple Because He Never Helped Take Out the Trash or With Any Other Chores, Actually

"Do you regret what you did to Adam?" Lucifer asked.
"Do you regret what you did to God?" Eve responded. 

Regina N.

Selected work