Rising, a short story by Joan Spilman

Grandma looks bewildered, like a child who’s been tricked. I’ve seen this look on her face before. In the hospital, mostly in the evening. The physical therapist told me not to worry. “It happens with stroke patients. We call it sundowning. They get confused. Expect her to have good days and bad. Expect her to cry and be moody. Don’t be alarmed at outbursts, accusations.” I’ve never feared for anything until now.

Light Moves, a short story

Marsha was dreaming and in her dream she was a girl again and begin cheated out of all the money in her piggybank. Cheated, not robbed for in place of the multitude of nickels, the polished quarters, the flood of dimes, were pennies, dirty pennies, raining down upon her, falling through the belly of a spotted sky.