Category Archives: Fiction

I don’t know what put the fantasy in my head. I suppose its origin doesn’t matter. What matters is the idea attached itself to my brain like a leech, greedily consuming my attention. I have no choice but to devote myself … Continue reading →

He was, in a way, translucent. You could see through him as if he were a veil, a shadow of fabric through which a bright light revealed every curve, every ugly imperfection, every hideous flaw. I think he knew his personality … Continue reading →

When Marlin Glenn lifted the lid, the intense odor of smoked meat escaped from the empty red ice chest. “You didn’t air this out, Nancy,” he barked. “Everything we put in it’s gonna reek.” Nancy’s mouth opened, then closed. She tightly balled her right fist, then slowly unclenched … Continue reading →

For a moment, I didn’t know what caused the noise, but when I looked up, I saw the crack in the clear blue sky above me.  The sound was far louder and sharper than a peal of thunder. There was no roar, no prelude, … Continue reading →

The most difficult experiences take place at the intersection of acknowledging one’s most egregious imperfections and accepting one’s inadequacies to overcome them. Those are the points at which one asks whether arguments in favor of continuing to live have any merit. Those are the events that lure doubt out from its hidden places … Continue reading →

The morning before Daddy-o Compton died was simply spectacular; there’s no other word for it. Brilliant sunlight reflected off of everything it touched. Even the weathered grey siding of the abandoned First Baptist Church, carrying a hundred years of dirt and grit and … Continue reading →

Rain stuttered, off and on, through a heavy mist as the remnants of a cold front pushed through. Regular classes did not meet on Saturdays, so the parking lot, hidden among a thick clot of pine trees, was almost empty. Registrants for the … Continue reading →

The scent of sandalwood confronted me the instant I opened the door of the dim temple— just a tiny room with a low ceiling, really—in Gander’s modest bungalow. The aroma was faint, as if just a memory, but clear. There, in this sacred … Continue reading →

“These damn conversations just won’t stop. If I were capable of holding my tongue, the issues would simply fade away. But, no, it seems I can’t let my flippant comments pass into their deserved oblivion. I am powerless; I simply … Continue reading →

Tuesday morning. Actually, Monday night. That’s when he made the decision to withdraw. He would slip out of his routine quietly, without fanfare. No announcement, no notice; nothing to call attention to his disappearance from the ether, the netherworld of … Continue reading →

I sat with my friend at the kitchen table, sturdy as steel but worn to bare wood from a hundred years of use by families in their own kitchens during wars and recessions, presidential crises and moon landings. I found the … Continue reading →

Ernest Hemingway broke into my house on my birthday in October 1960 when I was seven years old. The media reported at the time that he was in hiding with Mary, in New York; clearly he was not. No, he … Continue reading →

Stegner sat in the only chair in the room, a swivel rocker covered in fabric. He stared intently at the armrest, the pale blue background of the threadbare cloth decorated with hideous brown and green dancing bears. It was something his grandmother might … Continue reading →

He sat alone in the tiny, rustic one-room cabin near the crest of the mountain, looking out toward the higher snow-capped peaks across the valley below. It won’t be long, he thought, until winter takes hold. Had there been a pane of glass in the … Continue reading →

Virginia O’Malley got in line to buy a copy of the band’s latest album, A Christmas Musical Lexicon. The band’s concert was scheduled to begin just two hours later, but that left plenty of time to get the album and find her … Continue reading →

My violent end could have been predicted, and very probably was, by my first grade teacher, Regina Scoop.  She could have told you, and I suspect she did, that I was destined, first, to infect the school and, then, the entire … Continue reading →

Stella wasn’t a light sleeper, but Kitchener worried that the sound of jangling keys might stir his wife from her sleep. He took care to minimize noise as he fumbled for his wallet and his keys in the dark. When he was … Continue reading →

Liam felt the blade of the knife rip into his left shoulder. The experience was not what he expected, if in fact he ever expected to be stabbed. There was no pain, just the sensation that his skin, and then … Continue reading →

Micah Blaine’s childhood in Lafayette, Louisiana was typical of Acadiana, at least it was typical of Acadiana of the last quarter of the twentieth century.  By the time he was born in 1972, Cajun French was not as widely spoken … Continue reading →

Pauling and Donaway were grilling trout from the morning’s catch over a driftwood campfire, filling the air with the sweet scent of salt and smoke and charred fish. The sun slipped low in the sky. With the last fish off the grill, Pauling … Continue reading →

The quality of his penmanship had declined since grade school. By the time he started keeping a journal, the only way he could assure himself he could read what he had written was to print his words in a slow, … Continue reading →

July third started like most days in Laredo. The sun crept slowly over the horizon, turning hot darkness into brutal, heat-drenched daylight. Estella Garcia woke, steeped in sweat, just as the pink gauze of heat began to fill the sky. Her son, Ernesto, liked to … Continue reading →

For ten miles, ice filled tire ruts in the road, making it damn near impossible for me to stay on the highway. When I reached a town, I pulled into the gravel lot of a post office to escape the sleet and freezing … Continue reading →

Quinn’s son, Garret, and daughter-in-law, Lynda, stood beside him at the counter. Garret said “Dad, let me pay for breakfast,” but Quinn, always the patriarch, responded with “Not this time.” Sharon, Quinn’s wife, gave Quinn an exasperated stare; she wished he … Continue reading →