2mg, by Jordan Potter

Two milligrams of morphine was enough, weak as he was, his mind already gone, breath like a rusty shovel in the loam that caked his lungs. He wasn’t coming home.…

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Forecast, by Jordan Potter

Seeing what kills your parents. What whittles them down like a pencil. What can’t be stopped. What plucks away at their frayed strings. What they can’t eat. What brings them…

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