Stories tagged violence


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Eddie Dorsett was a dumb kid. Nobody could dispute it. More than that, Eddie Dorsett was a fat, slothful, whining, shilly-shallying, phlegmatic zero of a kid, the lowest of the third-graders for certain and a prime contender for the lowest of the entire R


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Had I said something before, she might could have saved a little face by telling me to go to hell before we tumbled into the covers. All right. Again, I was no gentleman. Send me to hell. Whatever. I lay there on my back, my arm around her, and listened t


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And for a moment you stop and you let the men get into their cars and drive away and the new guy is pulling your short skirt down in back, back over the tops of your thigh hi’s which you didn’t hardly even notice were showing and could really care less ab


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I held at my gut and immediately regretted laughing at Frank when he pulled the pocket-knife out on me. I doubled over and fell to the floor. "John, was a typer all this important?" Frank asked, knife in hand.

Black Eyes, Blue Tears, and Dark Thoughts

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At five a family relative took my life away from me and no one cared

Nail polish

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Those in the house don’t notice the sweaty woman on their lawn any more than they notice the Ruger LCP pistol she holds limply in her right hand.

Adventures in football

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Being immersed in the all-male dressing-room atmosphere erodes the awkward edges off a man, making him into a more rounded human being

Again and again, until what emerges

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I’m going to tell you what we found: / the sick black smudges, their signatures / on our kitchen wall, the half-crushed shells / of aluminum cans clustered like rock oysters

Last Act

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I'm going to die if I don't get some kind of wine in my blood.

An Almost Made-Up Story

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It's Monday morning and my teacher is drunk as hell.

West of Romance

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I want a perfect American life in shambles.

The Day I Wrote My First Short Story

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watched skin fall / away from bone

Under the Jacaranda Trees

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When I left, Phil dropped to his knees and grabbed my ankles with his hands. His face was red and ugly from crying. “Wait!” he kept saying. “Let’s just talk for a minute!” But we’d already talked. We’d talked and talked and talked. The only thing left to

Wet funeral

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I know now, how she moves without verbs after you crushed her into the river.

Four Hearts & Jonquils

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I near the spot where life stopped,