Shotgun in hand, I inch toward the contorted deer. Behind me, breath reeking of whiskey, Pa hisses, “It’s suffering, boy. Put it out of its misery.” I rest my cheek against the stock and aim the barrel at the buck,… Continue Reading
I was six years old the first time I saw a man disappear. My parents were arguing in the kitchen that morning. I pretended not to hear it. A little later my father came into my room wearing a suit.… Continue Reading
I’ll always remember the way his car smelled, like stale Pall Malls and Vicks VapoRub. It was memories of court-ordered, every-other-weekend visits, chicken fingers and ice cream for dinner from the Dairy Queen, and peanut butter cups baked into the… 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
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
The man did not speak. He beckoned me to follow him with a hand sheathed in a greasy, surgical glove. I had never seen an auto mechanic wearing latex gloves so I asked him, “Is that the thing, nowadays?” I… Continue Reading
On the hundredth anniversary of the end of the war, the local newspaper read “Statue Unveiled of Local War Hero Archie Sutherland”. At the unveiling ceremony a draped cloth was lowered to reveal a tall, handsome soldier standing tall atop… Continue Reading
He barely remembers “Uncle” Willie leaving, just a blur of the man’s back. He’s just shy of two years old and that man who walks out the door is never truly his father. He’s a distant “uncle” his mom protects… Continue Reading
“Your father loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it.” The screen door slammed and Dad’s boots pounded down the stairs. Mom said he wasn’t himself since the war. I never met “himself” but I learned to take… Continue Reading
I opened the door to greet the sales representative from the Rod Serling School of Writing. Mr. Gregg stood awkwardly on the stoop. He attempted a smile but his expression indicated he’d rather be somewhere else. He was a tall,… Continue Reading