"The oysters felt different, but it was difficult for them to say how. They felt as though something had been added or something taken away. They felt vaguely the urge to produce pearls, but they could not produce them. Clearly, they were leaving something behind, moving with smooth speed away from something of great importance, but what this thing was they could not remember. They felt frustrated, distracted. Where were they going? they wondered. What would happen to them? What were they supposed to do? Oh, they were only oysters! Who was there to tell their story, and who was there to listen?" - The Oysters
"Then, after the baby was safely grown and away at college, her husband had one afternoon popped his handsome head up out of the crawl space and said, "I am a goblin of the deep," and she had laughed at him from the kitchen, where she was chopping carrots, and then he'd gone back down and had a cerebral hemorrhage and died." - The Child
This collection is rife with the above--one of the best collections I've read in a long, long time.