Samuel Waggoner never used his own products. People admired that about him; Waggoner’s Wigs were so good, had he used them, no one would ever have known. An Australian, he fought in Vietnam and emerged from the jungles with a secret ingredient that turned dried-out hair from barbers’ floors into manes which shone like honey and lasted and lasted. He built a wig empire, became a rich man, he married a stage actress, Harriet, for love, he bought a big house outside Darwin. He was totally bald.
Continue reading “Heir by Sam Graveney”Tag: family
Lizzie by Richard Hulse
As the hot afternoon ticked by, Lizzie thought they wouldn’t show. Then, far off, a vehicle coming down that dusty road. A car, not a truck.
It got closer and the passenger door was opening even before it stopped. Then Charlene was out and running to Lizzie, and Lizzie, she was jumping straight into her big cousin’s smile. Both of Charlene’s hands were on either side of Lizzie’s face.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you!’ said Charlene. ‘You been all right, baby? Have you?’
Continue reading “Lizzie by Richard Hulse”Alterations by JD Clapp
I was looking out the front window, watching the snow fall, waiting for the mailman to come with my disability check. Jesus, the snow is sticking now, and my tires are bald. I needed to deposit that check today. I was out of food, running low on whiskey, and I still owed Mrs. Schmidt half the rent for this little shithole of a duplex. Fuck my life. Then, I got the call.
Continue reading “Alterations by JD Clapp”Hannibal, Missouri by: Amber Bell
“Follow me,” a broad-shouldered woman wearing a name tag that said Deborah told Jade.
Jade followed her through a glass door, past a man working a register, and down a hall lined with half-open boxes.
Continue reading “Hannibal, Missouri by: Amber Bell”The Silver-Lined Ridge by Matthew J. Richardson
Fluttering canvas frames a view that has tugged at Ralph Nilsen’s dreams. The mountain is dark against the star-smeared sky, curved like a sickle, beckoning. Ralph permits himself a few moments to glance upwards, to watch the spindrift pluming across the Milky Way. Moments are all Ralph has. He will not be back, not for another season, not when he is within three hundred vertical metres…
Continue reading “The Silver-Lined Ridge by Matthew J. Richardson”The Persistence of Ruins by Barbara Krasner
White clapboards and wooden slats nailed across double windows peek through a veil of house-high ferns, maples, and elms. Leaves caress the places where shutters may once have been. Along the front in red and white reads a sign: Private Property No Trespassing. A vacant driveway sits to the south, marked off by a heavy chain, its endpoints hidden by foliage.
Continue reading “The Persistence of Ruins by Barbara Krasner”White Horse by Kate Mole.
Yesterday I walked another bit of the South-West Coast Path, from Praa Sands round to Marazion. I was with a friend, who is aiming to complete the entire circuit of the path, from Minehead to Poole Harbour. He does bits of it as and when he can, and invites people to accompany him if they live locally, or are keen walkers, or just feel like doing it with him. This was a short section, only about six miles – well, short for him; about the right distance for me to walk comfortably.
Continue reading “White Horse by Kate Mole.”The Campground Dog by Christopher Ananais
Vacation Bible school came and went. Proverbs learned and unlearned, a paper badge, and the Lord. Then came our family camping trip. Please, don’t think it was all bad. It wouldn’t be fair to my mother.
Continue reading “The Campground Dog by Christopher Ananais”Caged by R H Nicholson
Mamaw don’t want to lock you in a cage, but I got no choice,” she apologized to her wailing granddaughter as she extricated herself from the overwrought child, both covered in spittle, snot, and tears, an ectoplasm of bodily fluids. The child desperately reached for her, arms stretched, fingers twitching, head thrusting.
Continue reading “Caged by R H Nicholson”The Day the End of the World Was at Hand by J Bradley Minnick [1]
“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]”