The guy standing in the middle of the road is a writer, and he’s getting away with it too.
He can get away with it because he has been published but not self-published, and also because there’s no longer anybody around to give much of a shit anyway.
He’s also, to a comparable degree, getting away with standing in the middle of the road.
Continue reading “Epilogue by Jeremy Bader”
Right out of high school after Dad died I inherited eighteen acres down the road from Mom’s house. Raye, who I now call “The Old Crow” married me quick after that. I started building for our great future. I framed the house around and over top of the trailer, then took the inside trailer wall out. We trucked in water from Mom’s place. My friend Elton and I constructed the septic tank, a fifty gallon drum with pipe holes at both ends, pushed down in a rocky hole. My brother Jackson helped lift the roof trusses. My life pinnacle topped there, Raye and I bouncing on the bed by the wood stove, sex and drink and rock and roll in the custom made residence, and then came three kids, Raye and my mighty sperm created them two girls and a boy.
Continue reading “My Plea For Solitude by Harrison Kim”
Sometimes while driving alone through the empty mountain roads, the weight of the world sits heavy in my chest and it hurts to breathe. Naked trees shiver in the wind. Leaves unlatch and write in silent cursive across my windshield. Their tongue is the sacred, hidden language of the earth.
Continue reading “Sacred, Hidden by W Tyler Paterson”
literally stories 