It all started out so innocently. The week before Easter there was no news. Absolutely none. Admittedly, not much ever happened in Scottsbluff, Nebraska, but this was serious. No crimes, no traffic accidents. Not even a school board meeting. Amy… Continue Reading
People know me as Reggie, the eleven-year-old boy that drowned a puppy. Ten years ago I was a guest on The Dr. Lydia Show. I typically get asked one of two questions about the episode: 1. “Did you get paid… Continue Reading
Butterfly Boy is watching TV in the trailer park house he shares with his ma, Jeannie. His castle is guarded by a moat of cigarette butts and beer bottles. His face is brown like hers, but the bandages covering his… 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
Ding-Dong! Ugh, I think to myself while walking, head cocked, to the front door. I lean back for one last glimpse of the television before reaching forward and turning the knob. “Trick or treat,” the children holler before the door… Continue Reading
“The only information I can give you about the episode,” said the rep, “is that its title is ‘My Dirty Little Secret’.” Helen stood paralyzed in her kitchen as the phone call’s initial excitement swerved into a loop de loop… Continue Reading
It’s a lot like it is on TV. I hoped it would be. Only, in real life, no one glows green. That happens from the night-vision cameras they use. The cameras make everyone look like phosphorescent, sea-foam demons. In real… Continue Reading
They sat on the couch staring at the television, he in baggy pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt, she in a faded flannel nightgown and a pair of his black socks. “It’s getting chilly,” she said. “Uh-huh. You want me to… Continue Reading
Static screams across the graveyard, a cascade of black and white snow that only a fool would consider beautiful. It is, even to my eyes, a television-screen blur, the feed coming through my optic-receiver lost for a moment in the… Continue Reading
The Traveler’s name was Renapath, it was Wastool… once Schloopy. He had answered to all these names. Quick jumps among a legion of hosts clouded the memory, and few Travelers could recall clearly their origins, hampered as they were by… Continue Reading