Short Fiction

Hancher parking lot, 7:26 pm

Tuesday, April 24th, 2007

All these idiots in the parking lot better start running. The show starts in four minutes. They’re going to ruin it for everyone. Maybe it’s like New York. If you get there late, you have to wait until intermission to get in. I think it’s like that in Dublin, too. I don’t know. I was […]

Fratricide–The Thesis

Saturday, April 7th, 2007

At twenty-five pages, this is the longest thing I’ve ever written. If you read it, and have any comments, please send them my way. This is the second draft. I have one more to go. Thanks to James McPherson for all of his help. Thank you for your help, Robert. I Henry drove up the […]

Fratricide (IWP)

Sunday, July 23rd, 2006

The merciless Kentucky sun was beating the earth, wilting the trees, and silencing the birds. Pay slouched in a chair outside his room on the third floor balcony of the brick barracks with a sweating Bud-Light can drinking slowly. He stared out into the trees listening to his screaming mind. His oblong red face, broken […]

No Man’s Land (IWP)

Friday, July 7th, 2006

Water walls and solid air. I ran into my childhood room, climbed under the bed filled with squirming maggots, tried to hold my breath. I couldn’t move. I was in a room. Blinding light shining through large windows. A long wooden floor and shiny mirror walls. Someone started throwing stuff at me. I jumped through […]

The Priest

Sunday, April 23rd, 2006

“Do I know you?” a familiar voice asks. I turn around slowly. The sun dips below the steel and brick buildings and the street lights flicker to life, filling the air with mosquitoes. I do know him. I killed him in that Holy Place as he preached love and forgiveness and the ways of Christ. […]

Bong Water in the Carpet (Revised)

Monday, March 20th, 2006

This pot tastes kind of strange. Like a hospital, or a whorehouse. A stale rosy taste far back on the tongue and nose. I wash it down with a swig of beer. Walk out the door. “Where are you going?” Heather asks as the door swings closed. I walk down the long hallway–the worn red […]

920

Thursday, March 9th, 2006

The sun slips slowly into the trees as the bullet proof vest Henry wears traps hot, musty air next to his skin. Henry’s heavy duty belt—bullets, cell phone, radio, flashlight, surgical gloves, handcuffs, retractable baton, weapon, pepper spray—is a constricting black nylon snake and a painful heat rash tears at his hips and moves slowly […]

First Night

Monday, February 6th, 2006

Pay follows the others off the bus into the muggy Alabama night. The air, more water than air, Pay thinks, is hard to breathe and he opens his mouth to gulp it in. The line in which he is a part snakes into a small white building adorned with the flags of America and its […]

Knock, Knock

Monday, January 30th, 2006

Pay is drinking alone in his room as he does every night. Sitting on a nylon chair, he drains beer after beer down his bottomless hole. The TV the only light in the room and bright orange explosions of napalm, oxygen and trees make shadows flicker and dance across the walls. Finishing the last beer, […]

Cold

Tuesday, January 24th, 2006

It gets so cold here at night. The wind from the north, fast and howling like a freight train. He tightens his scarf and pulls his arms and legs close into his body, holds himself together in his tiny hole. The machine gun stands ready next to him, but he doesn’t notice it. He stares […]