Fiction

The Saga of Salk Atnas

By on Jan 5, 2014 in Fiction | Comments Off

  an After-Christmas Chronicle It was mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve in Jericho,Pennsylvania, when the brawny policeman forcibly escorted a sad-looking man in a tattered green coat into the lobby of the Konestoga County Mental Health Agency.  The receptionist hardly looked up until the blue-suited lawman sternly and loudly demanded that a psychiatrist conduct an emergency evaluation of the shabby stranger, who was bald, tall and very, very thin.  The outburst of the ruddy-faced policeman and the stranger’s odd appearance — there were multiple patches on his coat —...

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A Bath

By on Dec 8, 2013 in Fiction | Comments Off

That night, Sierra had told him she wanted nothing more than to take a bath. A nice hot one. So hot she’d have to stick her legs out and rest them on the side of the tub for relief. And bubbles. She had smiled. Thick and foamy, swirling soft under the tap and billowing in a pile she’d have to chop through with her body. She might have done a facial mask, might have conditioned her hair. Afterward, she might even have had the patience to wield the nail file. Instead, Sierra stood in the shower and tried to smoke a cigarette. Her hands shook as she brought it to her mouth. The pack lay dry...

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My Duffel Bag Tried to Kill Me

By on Nov 19, 2013 in Fiction, Humor | 1 comment

This is the story of Joshua Greenleaf, a young man who spent three years, eight months, twenty seven days, and thirteen hours in the Army. He would tell you that the Army gave him a good education, helped him realize what he wanted to do with his life, and helped him grow and mature. Nevertheless, he hated the army. He appreciated what the Army did for him, but he could never adjust to being owned. While he was in the Army, in the back of his mind, there was always the thought that Lincoln freed the slaves, but forgot to free enlisted men. This is his story, a story that starts with a...

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Dirty Money

By on Nov 18, 2013 in Fiction, Humor | 2 comments

“Ten fifty-dollar bills, please, dear.” The elderly woman, so short she could barely see over the counter, slid her bank card through the slot too slowly. Teller Wyndy Elkins smiled, took her card, and expertly glided it through. Maybe Wyndy was hungry, but her mouth salivated slightly as she noted that the customer’s outfit — a worn, caramel-colored cape with white fur lining. It reminded Wyndy of a cream-filled donut. The woman’s face seemed familiar, though Wyndy didn’t think she had waited on her before. The account appeared on her screen. Clare Cormer. Balance:...

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Christ’s Salvation

By on Nov 3, 2013 in Fiction | 4 comments

“Fend for himself?” I gestured at the small boy hunched on the corridor floor nearby. “Madame, a child that age cannot fend for himself.” I guessed the boy to be around seven. He was dressed in grimy shorts and a faded T-shirt. His bare feet were covered in dust; tear tracks ran down his grubby cheeks. “Welcome to Zaire, Dr Finmore.” Nurse Kulungu shrugged. She glanced down at her wrist watch. Her shift had just ended. “It isn’t right, but it happens all the time.” A bead of sweat trickled down my back. The top half of the open galleries that enclosed the single-story,...

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An Hour in Special Ed

By on Nov 3, 2013 in Fiction | 7 comments

Here there are four students and three teachers. Here grunts and screams and moans fill the air. Here critical comments fall on inattentive ears. I have entered the Special Ed room at the junior high. I work in a corner, replacing the lead teacher’s computer. I have ample opportunity to watch and listen as I wait for the transfer of data to the network drive. Kept apart by at least a few feet, the students seem almost unaware of each other. There is a boy, a Down syndrome boy, who sits on a sofa in another corner of this room. He holds a large ball and growls and howls for no apparent...

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