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The By-pass

[…] the word. Something bad, something wrong. Those were the kinds of words I used. Some kind of human activity.  “Drinking’s a sin,” he said. “Cussing’s a sin. Smoking’s a sin. That right?”  “Reuben, are […]

Charity Never

[…] what she was carrying. I expected to see in her chaste grip a massive gong of antediluvian design with which, on reaching the homeless man, she would bang out over the city an invocation […]

The Gilded Door

It sat on a quiet end of Main Street, just a block down from the Shore line State Bank and the Sunshine Laundry. Within its dark cavern, you could lose yourself in fantasy. It was…

A Visit for Tregan

Tregan Weaver was driving home from Madison High in his little black CRX on the first warm day of spring in Rexburg, Idaho. The trees along Main Street were in blossom, the lawns were turning…

The Widower

The Widower  Eric W Jepson  Four years had passed since Mary had died; Torrance still wasn’t comfortable dating and yet here he was, getting married. Five years with Mary may have been too short, but…

Domlik

[…] even if he had a daughter to replace his lost son. Since his promotion in the regional humanitarian demining program, Domlik had occupied the seat to the right side of the shriba at town […]

The Dream

[…] who desired other men and women who desired other women implied some kind of terrible mistake in design on the part the Almighty, an obvious impossibility for any respectable theology. Moreover, a dream on […]

Richard Golightly: A Novel

[…] Graduation  The first line of Richard’s speech: Infinity is not a number, but a direction. Similarly, our human potential . . .  There’s a sound, like the chugging of a lawnmower moving through thick […]

Hurt or Make Afraid

[…] horns through his stomach, so even if it doesn’t happen right away, I can stop his horrible design to bring our company to ruin by placing the knife in his belly. Even in sleep, […]

Straight Home

Six cars pulled through the intersection, one after the other over the course of an hour, but none of them was hers. Barefoot, Bart waited on the slat bench outside his front door, picking away…