Stories tagged summer

Angel Bilodeau

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Angel walked out of some small burg near Lowell one night, hasn't gone back and except for her father threatening over the phone to come down to Boston and drag her back by a fistful of black hair, hasn't had any visitors pleading with her to straighten o

Al Williams Passes The Johnny Walker Talking Stick

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Back then, the summer was made of real dirt, hard dirt, shattered shale that lodged under your fingernails, a lifetime of black blot tattoos, ink that penetrated, infiltrated, streaking sepsis with the infectious words, fuck him, fuck you,…

The Square of Children's Blocks

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There was absolutely nothing that stood in the way of our impertinence. There were only new mornings for us to enter, running headlong, or perhaps slowing in the heat to roll the dice with baseball cards as a…

Swimming in the Lagoon

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The smooth, sandy bottom feels soothing underfoot. But there are random patches of quicksand, and if you step into that stuff you’ll plunge straight up to your waist in sticky silt that is crawling with leeches.

Better Boys, Early Girls

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... tomatoes swelling and turning pink...


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You drank Frozen Screwdrivers at 11 a.m. on a Tuesday. You ate Taco Boy nachos on a Wednesday around 3 p.m. You made out with your girlfriend after biking along Rainbow Row on a Thursday at 4:45 p.m. It will be fine.

In the Evening

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The air is motionless. Not even a puff of a breeze. We sit on the front porch, swatting at mosquitos and watching fireflies. “Christ, it's humid. It's like wearing a wet towel.” Thunder rumbles across the lake, echoing off the water like a rolling suitcase on…

Olfactory Hues

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When summers at the dacha come to mind, the memories are scattershot. I like when they surface, but I don’t hold on to any of the fragments for too long. Not because anything unpleasant went on there; to the contrary, I remember those summers spent at our

Rain Song at Summer’s End

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Soft rain, small rain, steady rain— what the shrubs and tangled young red oak tree need—

Seeds of Summer

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Three Second Rule

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“Can I feel it?” he reached his hands out immediately, expecting I’d say yes. I am the type to always say yes, right? “Sure.” I confirmed, swallowing back my fear of his touch. He didn’t seem himself, like this. I led his hands to my hips and let them


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“What. Is. That?” Sid asked, staring at the shaggy ball of fur sitting in the living room. Its tongue hung out of its mouth and its tail beat against the carpet.“This is Ranger,” his mom said. “I don't know what breed he is, but he's a sweetie…

Because it is Summer

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Then sings the Bird-Who-Prays. She mumbles softly asking forgiveness for all the sinners of the world and food for all the hungry children. He knows as well as she, she has long since lost her faith and only sings out of habit.

The Night Before the Last Day of Summer

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Tonight is our last night to dream.


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Imagine the color when you close your eyes and stare at the sun. Then, crush it into a tiny ball, the size of your fist.