Harlan Covington

“Thanks, Johnny-poo! Honestly, what would I do without you?” lit up the screen of her husband’s

To the End Emily sat alone at the dinner table once again. The clock read nine, and still, no call or

The air was thick with the weight of unspoken debts when Mum’s voice crackled through the phone, sharp

**The Lost Letter** “I was sorting through some old things,” said Michael Thompson, “

Unexpectedly Married Emily sprinted through the shopping centre, arms laden with designer bags, dodging

**”So What If She Snapped?”** “You think anyone wants you around, you old hag?

“Go on ahead, I’ll catch up later.” “Where are you?” “At the allotment.

Len Fishkin slapped the alarm clock’s cold metal head and dragged himself out of bed, padding barefoot

“Oh, hello, hello, kingdom of chaos! Vicky, you’re home all day. Couldn’t you at least wash

**Instead of Me** “I don’t want to go to Dad’s… Aunt Laura said he doesn’t love me anymore,”