In My Dreams I Hold a Knife

by Ashley Winstead

I wanted them to see perfection. I ached for it in the deep, dark core of me: to be so good I left other people in the dust.

The blond hair and white teeth and expensive cycling tights, all pathetic attempts to cover the truth: that I, Jessica Miller, was utterly mediocre and had been my entire life.

Sometimes, you didn’t have to lift a finger. Sometimes, you could do nothing and get exactly what you wanted.