Momma always told us our father died a hero in a place named Goliad. When I was older, Momma told me the rest, sending Jess and Sam out to play before she spoke. My sisters pestered me after, wanting me…
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Blog Archives
Entertaining Iris Auction, by Christopher Blonde
My mother, Joyce, is fond of smoking with a fervency that trumps her fondness for the mathematics she was famed for in her heyday as well as that for her husband and one measly crack at progeny. When we go…
Taking Flight, by JC Hemphill
“Come on, Becky, just this once,” Mike said to his fiancée as she unraveled newspaper from an indigo vase. A plastic baggy containing two lime-green pills in the shape of footballs rested on the coffee table between them. “After the…
The Save Humanity Fund, by Wes Bishop
“Hi, my name is Anthony Warner with the Save Humanity Fund, and I’m here with a message of hope.” From behind a bombed out building, a handsome young man walked through a sea of miserable people. “Every day we see…
Finding Home, by Mike Lynch
Melancholy. This is a word most people have an inherent knowledge of, but do they really know what it means? A quick look in the dictionary will give you a clinical definition, cold, and without feeling—which more than anything else…
Aunt Hedda’s Heritage, by Jan Wiezorek
His gold buttons and official-looking badge were bright beacons in my face. He looked at my 2001 model-year car like I had driven from Mars. “No, it’s only residential on this side of the road.” He waved off-handedly at me.…
Maaf Karo, Forgive me, by Sharmeen Farooq
Fareeda sat so stiff-necked on the cool steel bench that, were her retired military father alive to witness it, she would’ve made him proud. Her hawk eyes, more intense than the unashamed salivating gazes of desperate men, prowled the station…
Job Application Woe!, by Andrew Scott
It was bound to come along…and true to form it has: the dreaded “Quiet Week”. Despite the best of intentions and the most tortuous time applying for jobs there are always the brief periods of silence, awaiting judgement. “The calm…
Breach, by Patrick Ragland
Twenty-three—that’s how many chandeliers Brendan counted—twenty-three. The ceiling was high and arched, of course, being Catholic and Gothic, and from twenty-three gold chains hung twenty-three gold chandeliers. The light of morning mass rendered the flame-shaped bulbs of the plastic candles…
Word Storm, by Shannon M. Wednt
Ellen Morris walked through the municipal park, her red umbrella hooked at her elbow. She could see the storm coming towards her, like a dust devil swirling with words. According to the National Weather Service, it was the third so-called…
