Fiction Friday: Celery

Celery Ashleigh Hatter She liked the crunch of things. Many things. Lots of different kinds of things. Of chips and uncooked rice. Of apples and tree bark. Of fingers and celery. Yes, she liked to chew, to snap, to crunch lots of things, but she loved her celery the most of all. Hooded, cozy, sniffing the cold, she stole into the world, shutting her door, licking her lips. Imagining, picturing a crunch. Her jaw seized, and it was usual. Very normal. Very typical. The doctor said so, and the doctor…

Fiction Friday: Lavatory

Lavatory Ashleigh Hatter Jangling the handle again, he gently knocked his head against the heavy door, then returned to sitting on the toilet. The remaining light still worked, so there was that. He looked back at the mirror he’d shattered earlier on. How much earlier? Sucking his teeth, he hated that he didn’t know. No one wore watches, and his phone was on the other side of the door. He’d always left his cell out of the bathroom when he went in. As she liked to say, he was a…