Fiction

Starting at 1:47 a.m., BC emergency dispatch started receiving 911 calls about an older, ruby-red Ford Taurus with no licence plate being driven erratically on Highway 16, headed east toward Prince George.

What does a person who is universally loved need saving from anyway?

Even half a decade after the news cycle washed its hands of the matter I could still recall details with ease. Though I preferred not to.

Pregnant potcakes from Belize and Cuba, foster failures from Miami-Dade, puppies found in trash bins.

It was the best first wedding we could have asked for. But it wasn’t enough! Clearly!

In Dolor, we had no concept of damage. Time was the closest to damage we knew.

Olivia Robinson was and is much worse than I am. She’s also, in the sense that matters to her and to our world, much greater.

A very Russian turn of events: no solutions, but the trouble passes—so why bring it up?

“I guess I should tell you about something.”