The Library at Mount Char

by Scott Hawkins

The problem with a heart coal is that the memory always diverges from the actual thing. She remembers an idealized version of her son. She’s forgotten that he was selfish, that he enjoyed giving little offenses.

As a thirteen-year veteran of Army bureaucracy he was pretty sure he’d filled it out properly, but with a certain species of asshole you could never really be sure.

Steve, devastated, tripped over his grief with every thought: my-teeth-feel-fuzzy-better-brush-’em-because-Mom-says, I’m-hungry-wonder-if-Dad-will-get pizza. The loss throbbed in the core of him like a toothache.