Most recent stories

No Place Like Home for the Holidays

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Lu loved his mother, but her anxieties nagged at him like poison ivy. You can't avoid scratching it, but the more you do, the worse it gets.

Curfew

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The Houston police devised a punishment for the adulterous thespian that would not hurt the nights or household income of his French young wife.

Winter '69

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One minute Rudy was sitting up close to me, asking me how could Geppetto make a little boy out of a piece of wood, and the next, Steve was pounding up the stairs, yelling, "Carla, get blankets, warm clothes; we're leaving, we won't be back."

On the Way to Your First AA Meeting

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The memory of thinking in some other language

SEPTEMBER GOLD or DAISY'S SONG

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We left Louisville two weeks after daddy died...

Kite

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One year, she got a kite.

Summer Reading

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The summer everyone read Faulkner, I read Hemingway. Out of spite.

Smite the hindmost of them

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“Hello, I’m Marlene, and this is April,” says the older of two women. Both Marlene and April wear ankle length dresses. The name Hester Prynne flashes through my mind.

Weeknights, Idling, Candlelight

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I find that I am keeping silent more often. I don't like repeating myself.

The Saurians' Revenge

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I’ve never liked birds. There’s something smug about the way they look at us, we prisoners of gravity, something self-congratulatory in their songs. Maybe I’m just projecting my own feelings about being stuck on the ground, attributing attitudes t

Kynik; or, Doggerel I

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Can't you go faster Said the disciple to the master Won't you speed up the car I know that you're loaded And I've already goaded You into crashing through the star But we need To pick up more speed As we break past all the flames So we might soon demise In this…

Peer Review

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Joseph K. ran a publishing house in the shadow of the Castle. Perhaps “publishing house” is too grand a title. Joseph K. kept a battery of six or seven (depending on repairs) manual typewriters, a crate of carbon paper, and a large stapling machine

The Tracing Game

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Shadows skipped across the bedroom wall at 80 km/hour. It wouldn't be so bad if people wouldn't use their high beams but it's the price you pay for living on a dark highway with low property taxes. “How do you sleep in here?”…

Staying In Place Staying In Place

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The way each intersection in a city where you’ve lived a while becomes layered with personal archeology. The cafe that replaced a liquor store you avoided, and the friend (or lover) you broke up with there, and the way on the day of the big fire you

Last Visit to the Toy Store

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The two walked around, taking in all the classics: the imported Russian matryoshka dolls of varying styles and bright colors; spinning tops, red Radio Flyer wagons, kaleidoscopes, and wooden yo-yo's invoked memories of Christmases past. The hand-stitched

Famine

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To be perfectly honest, I was lousy at my job. Or at least most aspects of it. The typing wasn’t a problem: I can get up to a hundred words a minute on a good stretch of unbroken text, and I’m pretty accurate. I even edited as I went, fixing passiv

If There is an Airport

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If there is an airport, it is one of dreams. If there is a dream, it is one of shadows. If there are shadows, there is not much more but the thoughts of a short man meeting a short woman on a runway of forbidden desires, in a foreign city belonging to n

Dumb Luck

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“What sort of truck was it in Texas?” Carlisle says. “Small as truck goes,” Mill says. “Smaller than a full-size pick-up.”

Meeting Sandra

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His mouth went dry, but he managed to say, coolly, “Just how would you like me to do that, Sandra?”

Refugees

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Four in the morning. I was awake because I'm always awake. There were little fog-halos around the streetlights.

Buck, naked

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Buck, naked, has no words. The best he can manage is a dopey strangulated cough. His wife, who is clothed, stands before him, next to the waterbed that took Buck half a day to force into the trailer.

True Lu

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Lu peeked at his cards again. They were still jacks, and they still looked mighty nice.

Tragic Love

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So lie there like a sodden Brussel Sprout. Leave your paramour to thrash about in vain.

The Five of Cups

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Men aren't good at these kinds of things, my mother tells me. She states it as if it is a scientific fact.

Out of That Bed 1963

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My father's hands were huge. His left knuckles gashed as a kid when he rode his bike too close to a moving train. When his fingers fisted around a glass, the scarred joints bulged from his grip like blind eyes.

Pros and Cons of Wildflower Collection

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If it was truly new territory of the mind, he thought he might find some place that resembled the world as his dad envisioned it, having already decided that his father could never turn back across the frontier to the old world of youth

No More Tears

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When Bill was in the hospital, one month bleeding into the next, his mother visited exactly twice, both times complaining of the things she needed or couldn’t get rid of: mop heads, bleach, dustpans, detergents, grease, turgid water in the basement. And

Blurbmonger

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Rick is short, red-haired and looks like his head has been plopped directly onto his torso. Francine is six foot two, likes guys her height and prefers some of their height to consist of neck.

Good for the Gander

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“This isn’t fair!” I rail to my late wife. “It’s all right for you, why not me?” She never answers me directly. Not in whispers, or with knocks, or even dreams.

Featherweight

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As the torrent hit her, she felt her body slipping, sinking, and suddenly she didn’t know where the floor was in relation to her feet.