Story Skeleton: A Spider’s Death Sentence Commuted . . . For Now

By Angela Noel

September 7, 2017

Crazy spider walking precarious along my page: I hate you because you are creepy. And you hate me because I hold your death in my fingers.

Yet I am more like you than I am not. Something holds a tissue above me, too. Something that would squash my life as I would squash yours–and equally without thought. Continue reading “Story Skeleton: A Spider’s Death Sentence Commuted . . . For Now”

Story Skeleton: She Who Laughs at Grammy

By Angela Noel

August 3, 2017

“She who laughs at Grammy cries at the reading of the will,” says my grandmother, draped in curlers and a silken turquoise robe.

Lugged from some hidden corner, she plunks a mutant plastic Easter egg on the kitchen counter.¬†She¬†opens the domed contraption, extending its long neck. Settling herself in her barstool, she flips a switch on the device. Whirring, then a huff like a deep sustained sigh, begins. Beneath the dome, her head, to the lips, disappears. Continue reading “Story Skeleton: She Who Laughs at Grammy”