Our village escaped the war. We heard skirmishes nearby, at the edge of the woods. That was all. After each engagement, tired soldiers wafted into the square like dried leaves piling up against the steps of the church. In the...Read More
Mara braced herself for her sunset uphill climb. The first time she walked home from work she swore it was a wall. She imagined herself leaning into it and catching herself on her hands, scaling the nearly vertical slope like a...Read More
The gun was missing. They kept it in the deepest drawer, the third one below the toaster. On Saturday at noon, she absentmindedly dug under the regular dishtowels for the thicker cotton towel they used to cover Kye’s homemade...Read More
Ever since Willy Two Horse had been elected as the Tupai Tribe’s President, its Board Meetings kept getting closer and closer to the designated starting time of two o’clock. The latest meeting got underway at 2:37 PM, less than...Read More
When Mrs. Weiss backhanded the doctor, who was a good five years younger than her still-finding-himself son, the chicken scratch notes from her medical chart went flying everywhere. “Mrs. W, try to remain calm,” the doctor said...Read More
Until this morning, September was a time of open windows, Indian summer coming through, a smell of sun and warmed earth, cricket-song recalling Septembers past and Septembers yet to come. Until this morning, I had no fear of...Read More
Forget the corny décor. Of all the beachside cafes, Nick’s Mermaid Café, his old-fashioned regular, still serves the best cooked English breakfast south of the city. He finishes the last of his poached egg, sips his sanctioned...Read More
The pail and the lantern. For Jimmy, in this town, in 1908, these were the icons of adulthood. Sure, there were many more, but they were at the top of his list. He saw them in his sleep, dancing around the magic of his...Read More
As if in a dream—the wind clawing at his eyes and mouth––Lucas strips the glove from his right hand and takes the .44 Colt Anaconda from his jacket pocket. In the glow of the Coleman lantern, which he’s propped up in the snow...Read More
Later, Emily will refer to it as the Winter of Death, record Seattle rainfall as a fitting backdrop. December kicked it off, with her father’s notable decline which, at 94, could hardly be argued; but saddens her beyond belief....Read More
i.Lucas leaned against the shower cubicle wall as hot water pours over him. The scars on his body glistened, pink and raw. He traced one with his fingertip, still in disbelief at its existence. Twelve months might’ve healed the...Read More
I get the call at 1:17 a.m., “Jerry?” “Ben,” I say. Just stating fact. As I stand, I hear snow brushing our house. My wife, Dominique, rustles the bed, sits up, flips on the light. Her big blue peepers flash a question, “Ben...Read More
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