All Stories, General Fiction

Shake or Float? By David Lohrey

I drove a 1963 Flamengo-orange Thunderbird, wore navy blue tennis shoes, and sat eating a banana split at the A&W. It was 1986. In White Haven, Tennessee, where truck drivers were thought to be rich, it was still considered a big deal to go to the movies. Girls looked forward to losing their virginity in the back row at the Malco Theatre.

Continue reading “Shake or Float? By David Lohrey”
All Stories, Historical

Odyssey of a French Swordsman by Tom Sheehan

“Who among you will swear to devote his life to country and crown? Stand you then and be appointed.”

He had stood up on that solemn occasion, had been counted, and subsequently dishonored and disparaged by his entire country, which quickly had gone under a different rule.

Continue reading “Odyssey of a French Swordsman by Tom Sheehan”
All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

The Talk Part Three – Driving While Black by Frederick K Foote

“Hey, Beth, you got a minute? I need your advice.”

“Greg, not really, however, I’ll always make time for a call from my ex-husband and the father of our children. First of all, you should move out of that horribly dangerous Oak Park place where you have domiciled my children. Apparently, the law enforcement thugs have a year-round open season on black people in Sacramento.”

Continue reading “The Talk Part Three – Driving While Black by Frederick K Foote”

All Stories, General Fiction

Spam in a Can by David Lohrey

My pal’s orange Datsun was riddled with bullet holes. The passenger door was a mess. There were between 12 and 21 spaces where the body shop mechanic had had to drill to knock out dents from the impact of an oncoming pickup. Rich could afford the holes but not the patches.

Continue reading “Spam in a Can by David Lohrey”

All Stories, General Fiction, Story of the Week

Honey Pie by Tobias Haglund

DSC_0592

It shone over Hayfield, South Dakota, and George Angus ran his hand through straws of Hard Red Winter Wheat. Cream colored leaves. He used his hand to shield against the sun and fixed his eyes on the old oak tree upon the hill. Then down again. Frail dryness. Like the touch of Mary’s hand. He looked at his own hands, dry but not frail. Quite sturdy. Sharp lines, trenches from a working life. He ran his palm over his scruffy wide face.

Continue reading “Honey Pie by Tobias Haglund”