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Generations by Angenette Lilly

"Even after 45 years..." were the words Marla was saying when we first bumped our mindless, robotic bodies into each other outside of my husband's hospice room. I tried to grab my son to keep him from knocking one of us over in his rambunctious flight, but Lego jetliner in hand, he flew down the corridor in front of me. "Excuse me," I said to her. "I didn't see you standing there." "I saw the boy earlier," she responded. Her eyes were a vacant blue, bloodshot, and lined with dark circles--all visible beneath a layer of thin make-up. "He sure is a cute little thing. How old is he?" My son tried to zoom quietly past me and back into the room, but before he could, the questioning smile of the gray-haired lady, along with an outstretched hand, caught his attention. "Nice to meet you," she said. "I'm four!" he responded before retreating back into the room. Marla's eyes drifted to
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Apartment 24

Apartment 24 by Angenette Lilly According to Jess, there were three things that every smart woman should remember: 1) never trust a man, 2) never ever trust a man, and 3) never ever ever trust a man. It was that simple. But even smart girls have moments of stupidity followed by moments of disbelief. Tidbits. Slivers. Pieces of glass. That's what the burglar who robbed apartment 23 and 24 on Randolph Street West on Friday afternoon had left behind and not much more, at least nothing that Jess found of interest, nothing that really meant anything to her... not anymore. "Mrs. Manning..." the reporting officer said, scribbling quickly onto a notepad he gripped firmly in one hand. "It's actually Ms.," Jess replied, waiting for an acknowledging glance from the short, muscular man with the bulging biceps and a too-fast step. His hand paused slightly, as if letting her words register, and then it picked up the pace again. Small, tight, c
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