Flashbulbs popped, momentarily blinding me. The crowd roared. I shook my head. I shook it again. Blood blotched my chest like large brushfuls of paint. My cornerman fanned me with a luminous towel he almost threw into the ring before… Continue Reading
Fuck the ugly dog. That’s what he said as they were taking him away. Somebody shouted to him as the police were leading him away, “Hey, Joe, what do we do with the Boy?” and he just leaned back over… Continue Reading
One swing of the bat and a frozen rope laced foul from the barrel of a 32-ounce bat beaned my Dad straight in the left temple, and he crumpled in my lap. It was opening day. I was ten years… Continue Reading
Sandra bit at the inside of her bottom lip as the kicker trotted onto the field for a 47-yard field goal attempt that, if true, would win the Super Bowl. She was a sideline reporter for the TV network covering… Continue Reading
She’s just a touch tinier than the rest of the cheerleaders, so Viv is the one who gets thrown into the air. She likes feeling like she’s flying. She feels special up there. Maybe even magical. When she goes upwards,… Continue Reading
On the train to Detroit some of the guys were playing cards, two were reading, most sleeping. Eddie was alone in the back of the car, smoking and staring out the window. I got up and sat next to him.… Continue Reading
A red glove pummelled Jake’s ribs, then another socked his chin before the bell went ‘ding’ with him still standing. Like every muscle in Jake’s body, his head now throbbed to its own rasping beat. The exuberant cheers of the… Continue Reading
A group of young men looked at me suspiciously as I crossed under the ancient railroad bridge, but I ignored them. I was a big guy, and the bat I was holding was essentially a club. I was too excited… Continue Reading
Mike wondered if Coach Phillips was just jerking him around. “You want me to pick a team?” Coach Phillips scratched his sizable gut. “That’s right, Zoner. You and Abrams. First in the alphabet and last.” Mike fingered the Star Trek… Continue Reading
PLIFF-pliff-pliff-pliff. PLIFF-pliff-pliff-pliff. LAP-twen-ty-one. SEE-the-boy-run. Yeah, me, Grant Matthews, Olympian. Never felt faster. Is it really the suit? Can ‘optimal thermoregulation’ make that much difference to a runner? DeSelbySuits sure wanted us to believe it, before the ‘fusion’ accidents. The apogee… Continue Reading