Kate Ryan
Bio
Kate Ryan Articles
My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.
Read...“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.
Read...He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.
Read...Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.
Read...She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.
Read...Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.
Read...She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.
Read...Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.
Read...Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.
Read...I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.
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