AT MY SHOULDER • by Ron Capshaw
Writer’s block. I never thought I would have it again. But days passed, and I would type out a sentence and edit it down to two words. It’s the pulps, I told myself. A penny a word — by now,… Continue Reading
Writer’s block. I never thought I would have it again. But days passed, and I would type out a sentence and edit it down to two words. It’s the pulps, I told myself. A penny a word — by now,… Continue Reading
The tapping of the old man’s fingers against his worn keyboard filled the small room. A tabby cat sat in the corner, drinking from one of a half-dozen partially drunken mugs of tea scattered across the wooden floor and desk.… Continue Reading
The radio coughed and sputtered. Perhaps, muttered. So many rhyming sounds in the language. The vehicle, perhaps an automobility, exhaled too. I prayed it wouldn’t expire. I needed it for two more hours. Without tunes my creative juices evaporate. It’s… Continue Reading
The rumble of a motor cut through the forest, disrupting the stillness of a cool June morning. Olen grumbled. That meant humans, and humans usually meant trouble. Over the last sixty years, their fascination with his kind’s existence had pushed… Continue Reading
The front moved every night and with it moved the war. Shimmering and impenetrable, the front advanced and receded at eleven o’clock, sharp. Without care and concern it crossed birch forest and rivers alike, and split homes where it stopped.… Continue Reading
I don’t know what it was about my town, but it attracted heroes like flies on shit. This one sauntered into the store in a mismatched set of armour, her hair an unfeasible shade of pink, and introduced herself as… Continue Reading
Clever Elsie listened to the wind in the grass. She didn’t think of herself as clever any longer, not since she’d learned how her husband had tricked her, but the name survived among the people who lived in her valley.… Continue Reading
I drown those I play with in the salty deeps. They struggle and scream against my lips. I kiss them, my arms like soft nets. They despair, eyes gazing into mine until the gazes lose that spark. That life, that… Continue Reading
Ella was a loud and opinionated child — but also careful and caring and never cruel. “You’re such a difficult girl,” her mother would wail. “Why can’t you be more like your sisters? They do as they’re told.” But while… Continue Reading
How a moose got into the cabin, I do not know. We’d been down to Rosa’s café for a hot bowl of chili verde on a cool night, and I could’ve sworn I closed the door on our way out.… Continue Reading