A Case for Wrongful Death
Connie rocked back and forth on the faded velvet sofa in her sister Lois’s living room. It was summer, 1940. “Maybe you’re wrong,” Lois said. “I missed twice. I never missed before.” “You might just be nervous, the wedding coming and all,” Lois said. “I threw up yesterday.” “See there? Could be nerves.” Connie reached over and clutched Lois’s arm. “Tell me what to do.” Lois was a married lady, her big sister. She’d know. “Have you told George?” Connie shook her head. Lois pulled her sister close and kissed her damp cheek. “Good. Wait ‘til after...
Read MoreTraitor
We find the stranger in our ark near East Fence. Me and Ada. Not a real ark, just some old rotted logs and pine branches for a roof. We set up inside after morning prayers. Pretend to off the infected. Patrol doesn’t come by in winter – too much mud – no one crazy enough to go over the mountains, not with all that snow and ice. No one except the stranger. Ada’s snuffling behind me, got the ear of her rag bunny stuffed inside her mouth. Sucking. Always sucking. I jam my long braid down the back of my jacket and squat near the front of the ark to get a better look. I’ve...
Read MoreEighth Century Horse on Leaf of Handscroll
Tiny threads of rein and bridle look as if added in a later world to arrest his bucking head, to calm his terror-filled eye, white-haloed. He is the very picture of fear and is tethered to a pole so his four feet, levitated for flight, are frozen in time. Could I know what frightens him if this print were more than detail, if the characters of black brush stroke and red pictorial stamps were of my time and language? The story reflected in his eye is mine, though, speaks that moment when all is not as we long held.
Read MoreFeatured Works: Week of Oct 19 (Contemplation)
Amid the global uncertainty of the past several months, we have at times become overwhelmed. For many of us, it has also been a time of reflection and contemplation, as demonstrated by this week’s contributors. “On Gary Hume’s ‘The Whole World’” by Brian Cromwall delves into the all-encompassing qualities of our brains. “Those Unheard are Sweeter” by Thomas DeConna explores the inner world of a man whose deep thoughts are mistaken for shyness. “Somewhere in the Night” by John Hawkins takes a nocturnal bus trip that explores the narrator’s place in the...
Read MoreSomewhere in the Night
Middle Georgia—Summer 1974 He had forgotten how long he had been traveling—or how far. It had all seemed a lot clearer back then when he first decided to come to see her, again. All that was involved was flying into Atlanta and then taking the bus down to Flat Rock—just a few hours at most. But somehow, somewhere along the line, everything changed. Maybe it changed after he heard her voice; as if everything up until that time had been little more than a lark, an escape—not from boredom, but from the burden of routine repetition—or maybe it was just because of simple curiosity. He...
Read MoreThose Unheard Are Sweeter
“Where do you go?” The question echoes in my mind as if sounding through a cavern. It’s annoying as an alarm clock. If I could only swat a snooze button and silence the interruption. “Dear,” my wife says with fading patience, “the Millers drove all this way to meet us, and you’re ignoring them.” I snap out of it and recognize Bailey’s Tabard Inn, the restaurant that my wife, Barbara, and I frequent. At the table sits another couple, Alison and Geoffrey Miller. I work with Geoff at the university. In fact, we share an office because we’re literature professors. He...
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