Tag Archives: KEVIN BERG

THROWAWAY by KEVIN BERG

Almost three o’clock in the morning and his eyes are still open. The ceiling fan churns the silver light that slashes through the dark room, the moon fat and leaking through the blinds across the bed. He wishes he could wipe his nose with the back of his hand as burning eyes lock onto the face of his wife – angelic, serene, beautiful – and completely unaware. Continue reading THROWAWAY by KEVIN BERG

PAYDAY by KEVIN BERG

I sit motionless in the closet upstairs and wait for the door to open. Adrenaline slams my heart against my ribcage in anticipation, beads of sweat roll through the dips and valleys of scars and age on my forehead to sting my eyes. I blink away the excitement and breathe deeply, it shouldn’t be long. Continue reading PAYDAY by KEVIN BERG