The WriteAngles Journal

By Rose Oliver Thou shalt not steal. It’s a commandment of the Lord posted over the blackboard along with nine others in Sister Perpetua’s third grade classroom. “Stealing,” she said, “is a mortal sin. Children, be free from all sin. This is called being in the state of grace.” That was the state that Sister

By Tara McNamara Although we are still legally married, I am writing to inform you that, Regretfully I will no longer be available to you. I must gracefully decline your offer Of employment as dishwasher and sock folder. Also, general household maintenance and personal chef, I will not be around to fulfill. As the benefits

The latest, from Anne Pinkerton. writeangles

By Anne Pinkerton When my brother died, he was unmarried and childless (or “childfree,” as he likely would have framed it). David had spent his adult life working long hours as a radiologist in part because he loved science and helping people, but in equal part because the associated paycheck and vacation time afforded him

By David H. Coulter I was in the back lots with my new friend Bobby Peru playing in the dirt on a hot summer day. As Bobby was scraping a little pile together he wiped tiny beads of sweat off his face and looked up at me. “Hey, if I eat this spoonful of dirt

By Alice Knox Eaton Sherry says, “He finally figured out I have two boobs.” She is talking about Jimmy, the boy I like. She has spent two afternoons making out with him in the backseat of his friend’s car. His friend and another girl had the front seat. Sherry is from the city. She is

By Martin Henley I am seventy years old. The preceding sentence is simple and declarative, yet for me it is as unfathomable as time itself. How did I get to seventy years, and why am I still here while some of my closest childhood friends have died? These were my thoughts as I stood over

By Diane Kane I knew her well. You can’t live in someone’s body for nine months and not know them. I felt the anger. I smelled the sadness and tasted the salt that would burn in a lifetime of my wounds. With no choice; I was born, living in constant fear of the woman who

As usual Jimmy’s presence put me on edge. He was leaning against the storefront of my dad’s plumbing shop, drinking Colt 45 out of a brown paper bag, an unfiltered cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. His lips formed a smug grin, barely hiding his rotten, brown teeth. I never understood why