Sarah Bradley

Cleaver Magazine, Spring 2018

"Cheshire Cat" (short fiction)

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​"The winter when Lucy was nine and her brother Nick was twelve, he taught her to play chess. They bent over the crosshatched board on the living room floor in front of the fireplace, blonde heads nearly touching, all through Christmas break and into the new year. Wool socks and hot cocoa and Bing Crosby late into the night, the Douglas fir in the corner shimmering with tinsel..." READ MORE...

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Literary Orphans, April 2018

"Sweet Potato Baby" (flash fiction)

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"At eighteen weeks, my baby is the size of a sweet potato. That’s what the chart inside my yard sale copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting says..." READ MORE...

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Haunted Waters Press, 2017 fiction open runner-up

"Spectrum" (flash fiction)

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​"Our boy sits in the light of a closed window in late August. The street outside is wet, the air above it shimmering with hazy color. A sun shower has come and gone. I imagine everything smells like damp cotton and fresh-cut flowers. New and bright and clean..." READ MORE...

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Black Fox Literary Magazine, Winter 2017

"Otis: 1998-2016" (short fiction)

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"Less than an hour before Nora’s fourth date with Aaron, Otis goes missing. He is in the bathroom with her while she showers and starts her makeup, scratching his ear with his hind leg. She leaves for a moment to retrieve her dress from the bedroom and when she returns, he is gone. It worries her..." READ MORE...

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The Forge Literary Magazine, January 2017

"Birds of Paradise" (short fiction)

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​"It’s the third time this week, or maybe the fourth; Georgette isn’t keeping track but knows it’s happening more often now, her mother’s restlessness swelling exponentially in these last languid weeks of summer. The more motionless the days become, the more her mother searches for ways to quiet her blaring loneliness, frantic to soothe a long-held ache..." READ MORE...

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The Lost Country, Fall 2015

"Three-Piece Suit" (short fiction)

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​"From the bedroom window, Henry can see the place where his father died, the sudden parting on the front lawn where he collapsed while raking leaves. Half the yard is demarcated in neatly gathered rows of leaves, the other half covered in a brittle canopy six inches deep. A visible timeline: life before his father’s heart attack, and life after..." READ MORE...