Kate Ryan

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

Alma couldn’t understand why her Yelp reviews were so dismal. She didn’t advertise herself as a magician. She was a hair stylist.

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

LAX, on the other hand, seemed like a perfect place to pick up the latest deadly virus.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

"No self-respecting journalist or publication would ever hire someone who employs the word 'sh--' as a title for anything."

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.