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“The King,” he paused, pursed his lips, looked across the crowd of eager and fearful citizens of Ki, “is dead!”
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I wonder if he talks about Hockney to othersor if he just does that with me?And what if I wanted to just brush black circular motions like a long playing vinyl record onto a canvas as I listen to Happiness Is A Warm Gun? And what of it?Do you think…
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He tilted his head at his monitor and exhaled “No.” Minutes later, he tilted his head the other way and more sharply exclaimed “No!” Then he began over the next quarter hour simply to stare at the data stream before him, which left him speechless.
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box of wild animals in a tiny window and not just because you're in it, too,but I can't really imagine its twirling around and around like that without you. The sleek massive bodies of sharks too are beautiful in slow motion rise but…
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“That’s just Ryan W. Bradley—son of a bitch knows better by now.”
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My memory is like tracks in the snow. My memory is cookie dough. My memory is dirty tube socks.
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You're all I've got to keep me company, but it's a very fine company. So familiar, and warm as any cold digital fireplace. I can tell you've got more in your story, but it doesn't make you happy. I really do not feel well today. Fun I wanted to…
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One night he woke up with Underdog laying next to him, breathing softly. He marveled at how fiction could make reality so much better.
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her knife cleaves a single red hair
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At least ten people have been shot by their dogs since 2004, usually in hunting accidents. (AARP Bulletin, January February 2016)If somebody phones you claiming to be with the IRS, it's a scam. The real IRS will only open communications with a taxpayer via the U.S.…
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Do you know how much it takes to holdthe spring you love against your lips? No angel, or I, will ever begrudge, nor the planets that have to slow their pace and stumble their orbits a degree behind to make the magic that keeps our grip. We could have been elephants…
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In the night, a several-hundred-pound Black Bear scaled our neighbor’s back fence, bounded down the gravel footpath between our houses and, confused by the people and lights, followed his instincts up a large pine tree across the street...
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The phone screamed again, nearly rattling off the hook, and I winced. Only in the dead of night, silence all around it and with the ring so unexpected, did it register as an alarm like this.
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There is an island behind the house in which I grew up. It is a network of bicycle paths and booby traps. The past is snared there.
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Sally-Anne is in a graveyard. A girl about her age and height died two years before. Sally-Anne is digging up the bones. Her parents Aaron and Rebecca think she is at her piano…
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Waiting for the light to turn, his mind wandered, wondering how it was that bridges of this sort collected stories. Old thru truss bridges with grated deckings, or any older bridge for that matter. The stories seemed to have died out since the concrete
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in a complete rage he lifted his entire golf bag full of clubs over his head and threw them into the creek.
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Friday afternoon. Angelique Brody knocked Francesco’s studio door.
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The house was empty now - silent. Each room was filled with air too thin to sustain memory. She stood, absorbing the emptiness, addding it to her own. Her footsteps were hesitant, reluctant to disturb the silence. She walked into her old bedroom - so…
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Every town has one. Or one at the very least...
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Their hearts had a place for the Elements. The Sentinels did not want to abandon them, their friends. Nor did they want to abandon each other.
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and then he began to sing, along with the ghostly villagers
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It started out small: just a cup of coffee, purchased, and an extra one that I gave away.
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Harley Davidson fanny pack
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Every night she waited for that magical hour when her breath was quick and her heart was loud rushing in her ears 8:04 or sometime 8:20 either way she knew the voice she would hear of her beloved was coming any minute now and so she was…
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She had a face like a frog: wide mouth, prominent eyes – and when she touched him, her fingers felt clammy on his skin.
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I don't know if I'm going to get Alzheimer's, but know I don‘t want to. That's why I just read “100 Simple Things You Can Do To Prevent Alzheimer's“ by medical journalist Jean Carper. Doing simple things is something I'm good at. And while I'm…
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The early morning temperature was a typo
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The faint stars began to twinkle in the orange and purple sky and the clouds turned to watercolor and the window became a painting.
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