Published on Intrinsick Magazine: The buttered body of Christ bathed in Sunday sunlight upon a polished silver platter. I dropped the crystal cover on the vestry floor and stifled a cough. Dust stuck to the spines of old hymnals, the abandoned robes of dead choir members, and a set of forgotten advent angels.
When Jesus walked into the nuthouse, I knew things would get interesting. Our savior wore a muddy gray t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans my mother would never allow past her seasonal welcome mat, and a pair of really rad, orange converse.
Published on Reflex Press: Eyes snap open, stirred by a silent alarm. She peels stiff covers from her frigid skin, chilled by a thermostat set to 64 degrees, even in winter. Gray-socked feet hit the stained carpet, and she wiggles her toes. They’re painted a forbidden red.
Isabella was a single white rose in the midst of half a dozen red ones. Held together by pin and lace, like a delicate, porcelain doll, she paused. Would she melt away if anyone spilled crimson wine on her ivory silhouette?