POND LIFE • by Melanie Hering
Dale wants to be a writer. He enters a writing competition, wins third place and is awarded a grant. He decides to use a week of holiday, to get out of the big city, and go on a residency to… Continue Reading
Dale wants to be a writer. He enters a writing competition, wins third place and is awarded a grant. He decides to use a week of holiday, to get out of the big city, and go on a residency to… Continue Reading
Dane sat outside waiting for the bus. He wore dark green coveralls and a pair of plain work boots. A brown paper bag, tenuously housing his lunch, hung limply between his legs, its opening twisted and untwisted in his fists.… Continue Reading
I have had an enduring pain in my side for three days now, doctor. You have told me to stop calling this line, that you are not here anymore, that we have no patient-client privileges anymore. But doctor. My stomach… Continue Reading
Your grandfather promised me the moon when he proposed, but he could only afford Everest. I loved him so much we could have honeymooned at the bottom of a well, but he insisted that our first time would be the… Continue Reading
Simpa stood in Father’s mud shed; she had lost the battle against the rage she felt and now proceeded with her plan with anything but a clear head. Town hall meetings usually ended around sunset so she had till then… Continue Reading
The waiter asked us if we had been to Du Temps Perdu before. It wasn’t really a question. I think it was obvious we were from out of town. We must have looked like we had wandered in from a… Continue Reading
Final Countdown. “This move will be a fresh start,” Ryan said, as he stared out through the porthole, in their cabin. The once red planet now a superheated landscape, heaped with industrial waste, and enveloped in a thick cloud of… Continue Reading
My wife got me this tie for my birthday once and it was so obviously awful I think she had it custom made. I smiled with all my teeth and thanked her and then I regifted it to the guy… Continue Reading
They creep into Smoke Tree Trailer Village on a moonless night. Normally, our desert community remains undisturbed, except when Palace brings food for Jenika. When the unfamiliar RV rattles into our lot, I come out of reverie to Jenika’s whispers:… Continue Reading
After my mother died, my father, Jack Weber, moved to his condo in Florida. No more lawyering for Lobo Meat Pack. For years his condo was off limits to my mother and me. Dad took his R&Rs down there while… Continue Reading