“You can’t see anything going that fast, especially at night.”
“You can see everything going that fast, especially at night.”
Nora has no idea what Jack means. He drives the speed limit back to her apartment and drops her off.
Continue reading “There Are Just Too Many Places I’ve Got To See,’ Jack Says”
Like all great story-telling, John Lee Hooker’s “House Rent Boogie” can make you feel much better about yourself, if you’re willing to meet Hooker half way. In a country filled more and more with what Noam Chomsky calls the “precariat,” or economically disadvantaged folks who live paycheck to paycheck, dwelling to dwelling, meal to meal, buzz to buzz, never knowing, as Henry Miller put it, when the chair will be yanked out from under their rear ends, and they will be tossed out into the street again, Hooker’s “House Rent Boogie,” also known as “House Rent Blues,” can offer solace and encouragement to many of us. This kind of story-telling shows what story-telling is really for, which is helping the human species to make its way in this world while we struggle to survive our allotment of days here on the rapidly warming earth.
Continue reading “Sunday Whatever – House Rent Boogie – An essay by Dale Williams Barrigar”
The seagull cocked his head and purred. He dropped his beak into the sand but didn’t seem to find anything worthwhile. He put his head back and squawked loudly at me.
“Sorry buddy,” I said. “I don’t have anything for you.” It was the same way I used to talk to Jeter.
Continue reading “Crime Wave by Simon Nadel”
Annie never imagined she could have feelings for anyone—she wasn’t built that way, literally. As a first-generation Alpha-Lima model designed for general off-world service, she wasn’t capable of having independent aspirations, much less emotions.
Continue reading “Digital to Analog Conversion by Bud Pharo”
“I’ve signed you up for swimming lessons at the Y.M.C.A. Lessons start Monday. That’s tomorrow,” Mother said as I stood on pretty pink petals that lined the ground of our backyard jungle. A late spring snow had just left the rooftop of our home. The gutters were filled with brown, wet leaves. Father stood high atop a wooden ladder. Looking up, I saw his blue jeans and the dirty soles of his shoes. Mother stood under him, holding the bottom rungs. She wore a small bee-hive hairdo, a plaid shirt, and black slacks. Every so often a clump of leaves exploded in a burst behind me.
Continue reading “The Day the End of the World Was at Hand by J Bradley Minnick [1]”
Reader Alert – Adult content
They rush us up the hill to safety like a herd of Caribou moving past the basketball courts. Sirens whoop in all directions. Black smoke pours out the windows—oxygen is key—she is really going now. Gilbert smiles. Gilbert is deranged. His brother killed eight people at the Lilly Street Mall.
Continue reading “In the Flames by Christopher Ananias”
Madhu flatly refused to meet Shyam after having met Deepika Aunty. Imagine having her turn into Mummy! She could not bear the thought. How can a gut reaction be put into words and explained? Even Madhu’s parents couldn’t understand why she had refused to meet him. Since they couldn’t connect with her decision, they were deeply disappointed.
Sometimes it’s not just about dramatic happenings, but simply about how you think.
***
Continue reading “Meetings and Partings by Nidhi Srivastava Asthana”
Patty P., was heading home after shucking corn when she heard hammering coming from the tobacco barn. She peered through the wide slats in time to see her dad grab a handful of cash from an army duffle bag and toss it into a square pine box, over and over. She stepped back confused. They were poor, and had always been poor.
Continue reading “You Can’t Take It with You! By W.H. Forshee”
My father used to tell me, ‘One day, my sweet, King Arthur will return to save the kingdom from peril, and all will be right again.’ Clasping blankets up to my chin in the dim twilight of a bedroom lit only by the light in the hallway, I’d drift off to sleep, dreaming of the mighty King’s return. There was a location of his reappearance too – Cadbury Castle – though when I went there in my preteen years, I was sad to find no castle. Any evidence beyond the mounds and ditches of prehistoric civilisation had gone, and nothing sparkled enough to grasp my interest. Despite this, I hoped for his return. A wish, like believing in the tooth fairy or Father Christmas, that this being, just this one mythical being, would be real.
Continue reading “King Arthur Is Dead by Kathryn Hatchett”
He smells late-spring grass.
Cold, wet dew caressing his cheek, Stanley blinks rapidly for focus. In dawn’s peachy glow, he is face-deep in dandelions and the lengthy shadows of his white picket fence.
Continue reading “Manifesting Raspberry and Apple by Lincoln Hayes”
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