grab and go
Someone once said that seeing a turtle on your wedding day would bring good luck. But like any shotgun wedding, the good luck has already been had. All that’s left is the settling up. We were down on the creek bank. Buck and Chuck and yours truly, maybe three hours before the gallows. It was... Continue Reading →
Dawn rises through a haze of tear gas, glittering off broken glass that crunches beneath our boots. The new day casts a muted warmth on last night's destruction, but the smell that lingers is sharp and acrid--a mix of rubber and plastic and things not meant to be burned. The city smolders. Everything is burning. Day... Continue Reading →
Julie paced the bamboo floors, wiggling her toes in her Toms between steps while Connie Chaplin stood in front of the television, her vodka tonic as much a part of her uniform as the linen pants and sandals. “Connie, we really need to talk.” “Relax, Jules, it’s nothing.” Relax. Julie always needed to relax. After Chase... Continue Reading →
Lucky for me the guy was a bad shot. Hit my shoulder instead of my face. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t scared, shocked shitless really, when I leaned towards the car only to see him digging into the seat only to come back with a shiny black Glock. Maybe not a Glock, but... Continue Reading →
Dinner was something of a casserole dish, loaded down with brittle peas lurking under noodles and smeared with a gritty cream that stuck to the roof of my mouth. Mom's head and hands were elsewhere when she'd made it, so I picked and prodded carefully, while things went from uncomfortable to unbearable between Dad and Samir. They sparred with... Continue Reading →
I wash up and dry my hands, shaking my head at the guy in the mirror. Things have changed. The old mirror was oval with a dull spot on the left. And the thick wallpaper with the botanical theme is gone as well. The whole bathroom has been remodeled. It shouldn’t be surprising—it’s been over... Continue Reading →
Every writer writes for someone. A devoted wife or husband. Maybe that cute chick from a writer's group. An online critique partner. Could just be a severed little head looming over your shoulder, groaning at each cliché or applauding a burst of wit. But I think we need someone or something to test drive that first vehicle. To... Continue Reading →
Philo Auttenberg sometimes dreamed of cruising along the parkway in a convertible. It didn’t matter what parkway, even the make and model of the convertible wasn’t of supreme importance, just so long as the top was down and his hair was blowing in the wind. The hair. That was the bugger of the whole... Continue Reading →
“David. Please slow down. Both with the talking and the driving.” “Sorry," he says, not sorry at all. He points to the console. "Here, I brought you coffee and water. I’m like your personal hangover ambulance.” Only my brother could convince me to do whatever it is we so eagerly decided to do today. He says I... Continue Reading →
We slid into Dad’s truck, continuing the strangest evening of my twelve-year-old life. Mom scooted past the plans and papers to the middle seat and wiped at her skirt, fussing about all the red dirt and dust. As for me, I’d managed to pass under her radar in a semi-wrinkled collared shirt and a pair of jeans that... Continue Reading →
Lunch Break Fiction 