Three Fictions
Brandi Wells


Mom buys me a grey fur coat, flecked with purple and gold. It hangs past my knees; bulky shoulder pads.
I try to leave it inside during recess, but the teacher makes me wear it. "You'll catch a cold," she says.
When I go down the slide, it gets caught on a seam and I hang there, halfway down, while a girl at the top of the slide says, "Hurry up."


"Don't hit me again," I say.
She doesn't say anything. Keeps folding laundry and piling it into a big white laundry basket.


"You make me want to kill myself," I tell my mother.
"Can you get the mail?" she asks.