Fiction

Pain. It was never a stranger. When they were still together, Freda once said he not only had a high tolerance for it, he seemed to embrace it. Her comment…

“I wouldn’t call it suicide.” Not a trace of morbidity or fear was discernible in his response. “I’d call it ‘letting go.’”

It’s tempting to say it didn’t happen. That it couldn’t have happened. That it was actually the beer and whiskey telling a tale. And I’d be OK with that. Not…

When I got to school and learned I was the primary suspect for lynching the cat, I was simultaneously disheartened and perplexed.

Joan poked her head in his condo office. “Is it possible…” “No.” He didn’t even turn away from the computer.

Bella emerged from the late twilight, into the hotel lobby, like a sufficiently recovered she-wolf entering an open dell from a dim forest of lost time. Although it could not…

Riding a bike is easy. Until you try doing it with an armful of groceries seeking escape from a torn paper bag — while eating a cookie.

I didn’t intend to be a hero. But as a result, I lost my job, my wife and both of my girlfriends.

In contrast to the tension of another workday and sour news, it had been a somewhat relaxing drive home and not too hot to require air conditioning. As he pulled…

“If there were a million ways to accomplish something and no apparent way to fail – I’m the one who would find a way to disappoint.” Seymour paused briefly, but…