Robin Tung

Fiction

 
unsplash-image-bgSKRrYFYxc.jpg

After the trial, I found I couldn’t bear the silence of my own company. I bought a plane ticket and flew from San Francisco to Madison. My mother had parked in the expensive airport garage and was waiting for me at the arrivals gate. Wrapped in a blue quilted coat and fawnskin boots, she tilted forward, searching the crowd. All I had to do was be found. Read free online

 

When he was little, he’d lie on his belly and wait for Nina to finish brushing her teeth and putting on face cream. He’d lie so still with his arms tucked under his chest. And as soon as she got into bed, he’d whisper, Will you scratch my back? And she’d find all the itchy spots.

“You’re fine if they stay here?” he asked.

Nina shrugged and waited until the bee was still, then flicked it off with her painted fingernails.

“Let me die here,” she said. “I don’t want to go back.” Read free online

 

It was past eleven at night when my mother called. The rain came down in great big sheets, and I’d been curled up under three blankets with the heater on for hours, reading a book about digestion. Read free online

 

Poetry & Art Reviews