The reward was overwhelming almost. My heart warmed over with gratitude. The way it came about was completely unexpected, which makes it all that more special.
It was nearing later afternoon yesterday, and I was looking forward to my daily walk. The sun was almost behind the distant volcanos and the shadows were spreading dark shrouds over the land. Some days I felt primed and pumped for walking, other days it is a chore that needs to get done. At this point, it really comes down to age. …
As painful as it may be. just as well has to happen.
I’m writing you son. You feel like my son though you are not you are me. I need to understand that right now. Painful because I have waited a lifetime to do this. I have waited too long. I never knew that you were just around the corner! Be sure, though, it gives me the greatest possible joy to write you now.
Tommy, I know you; I believe in magic. Yes. It’s real. So these words are magical for you. …
She sat under the tree, a tall leafless aspen. A mile away, she saw him coming. She was down in a knee deep hollow which the trees’ massive roots formed. Her hide out was complete. Not from thirty yards even would anyone recognize someone sitting there.
He was coming for her now for some time. Followed her across six states, from New York to Tennessee to west Kansas, and she finally just tired of running. She double checked the Sharps rifle she carried, made sure there was a round in the chamber, settled in and waited.
The big Sharps was…
There are times when the writing seems to drag on without end.
Never arriving at a solution, or a story that offers a complete package. As though picking away at the outer margins of an undefinable issue.
Never ceasing to evade me is that desired arc, that start, middle and end needed for all stories. It’s as though all I can provide are snippets.
To be clear I have my first book in Amazon and piles of short stories. On the scale of: ‘writer vs accomplished writer’, or from one to ten. I put myself on the two, on a…
A subtle spirit blew through the coffee shop. The just ground, fresh Antiguan coffee filled the space. The corner location picked up an almost constant pass of gentle mountain breeze.
The sun was just about noon, shadows threw downward, almost self- canceling. As self- canceling as their talk.
They sat, now silent for a few moments as though collecting for the next round. Looking out the large, open two door entrance the massive broadside of Volcano Agua never failed to bring a renewed appreciation for this land.
Antigua was founded in the fifteen hundreds by the conquering Spanish armies and…
This piece of fiction meant to express a bareness.
So after some spur-of-the-moment planning…
Ok, so. I stuck with the knife. It went deep, caught him sideways, bumped its sharp thick blade against bone.
Silent, eyes shocked wide open, mouth gaping like a guppy out of water.
Cartlidge, cut grizzle like, then clean, blood and lubricants, simplifies, piece inside parts and falls away. …
Sitting, no turn available, stuck.
Time, now? Is it?
It may as well be.
He crossed the road, muddy, frozen breeze.
Hoped, oh please, now…
Dropped back into mud deep trench.
Along the spider web like barbed fence line a bloodied horse chewing weeds.
A lone shot, dropped, head held up by the barbs, jerked and stilled.
Far distant thunder, black sky, black rain.
Cannons flash, another long night.
A dream come true.
Thought it’d be fun.
Duty, honor, bravery, manhood.
Now in the acidic belly of hell.
Tied to this until it finds me.
It will find me. …
Two am and sitting at my desk. The midnight oil of ancient times almost feeds the muse.
Perhaps the trick here being invoked is the word: ‘almost’.
And because of our wonderful, ageing beagle pooch Max I find myself tending to his insomnia here in my office. Not a bad place to be, if I want to look at it that way. I mean, how many truly less appealing places I could find myself in right now. Forget that. …
A composite of many true events, this, a fictional depiction brings it up yet again.
Sometimes a story just needs to be told.
Lest we forget…
Nothing gained. A sense of liberation? Hardly. Every waking hour I live the living hell.
My sister tried to comfort me with her words. She’d lovingly pat my shoulder and say such things as: ‘it’s not too bad Alan, they do not hurt me. Mama used to tell me things like this can happen.’ …
The fat bird was in his sights.
He was controlling his breathing as he’d learned to do when he was in the Army.
“I can do this, sir. Let me take on this challenge. I will not let you down, you will see.” Montoya assured me. There was a solemnity to his voice. Was he gazing out to the non-distance, right there in my office?
Montoya was recalling something from his past.
You’d think he was volunteering for a suicide mission. The kind where the soldier raises his hands for a daring mission. A mission where, if successful, will save…