There’s this ball, pink-seamed and spinning fast, its coordinates locked on the northern perimeter of my left eye socket. All the proof I need that God hates me. No surprise, as my earthly father was never that fond of me… Continue Reading
In Bensonville, nobody wants to raise the dead anymore, so they leave them on the porch with the rest of the recyclables. Sometimes, the dead are wrapped in quilts or given a few crackers and a bit of water while… Continue Reading
Our house on the cliff had damp walls that huddled over us as we slept. Ma and Mary shared the bed in the loft while the rest of us kids slept below on pallets we kept behind the stove during… Continue Reading
The smell of death isn’t death; it’s food. The smell wafts from the kitchen, permeates the hallway, living room, and dining room of the old colonial. It travels up the stairs in whiffs of almost tangible threads into the two… Continue Reading
There was the completely avoidable car accident that resulted in the death of our friend Jonah, then there was the funeral, followed by the reception at his mom’s townhouse where everyone kept crying and Jonah’s attractive sister Leah went around… Continue Reading
Sometimes there’s a moment so quiet right after the exhaled breath when there is no breath, and an interval between two lives is suddenly bridged. My name is William, Wendell or Wallace. I’m not sure which. At this moment, it… Continue Reading
“Doin’ it myself,” Chris said, lighting a cigarette and inhaling. These are going to kill you. “Yeah?” he said, trying to pay attention to his task over the sound of distant voices. “So can drinking sodas.” Chris looked at his… Continue Reading
When I was young my brother left for the war. He died several months after in action. He was a hero by all standards. Incredibly jealous was I, but I was born wrong and would forever be denied. A year… Continue Reading
I’ve never shot a gun, and suddenly, Quinton is pressing the grip of a long-nosed revolver into my palm. I don’t anticipate its weight. The chilly steel. We’re cousins, but I’m new to life in Parched River. I’m used to… Continue Reading
I was thirteen when Daryl Harrison fell off our grain bin. Zach brought me along once to go visit him in the hospital. I remember clenching onto the plastic railing of the footboard of his bed. It all happened on… Continue Reading