Just a week before, when his father could still speak, he recalled the swallows returning to San Juan de Capistrano, just down the coast.
At first the creatures took small trinkets Lawrence had no desire to keep. He watched from his bed, patchwork quilt pulled up to his throat.
His fur was lush, his breath moist. I told myself to grab the knife. He inhaled. His ribs meshed with mine. I told myself: Not yet.
In truth, he driver was distracted, as all of us are sometimes, and after A passed by, he advanced into the intersection at speed without a thought.
Welcome to “Friday Reads,” featuring stories of the archives of jmww. Kick back, grab a comfy chair, and start your weekend off with beautiful, provocative, startling, unforgettable reads! This week’s […]
Behind her stalked a small girl in a gi, her hands out in claws, to show her all the moves she’d learned, going for the throat and the weak places.
You loomed above me in bed and I saw it, too late to ask—the inky name engraved on your bicep. Lucille.
“If a man looks to have been drinking, steer clear of em, Jenner. You hear?” Auntie’s eyes were sharp and clear. I had never seen them any other way. […]
Deer Michigan by Jack C. Buck 98 Pages Truth Serum Press, 2016 ISBN: 978-1925536256 Deer Michigan by Jack Buck is a collection of flash fiction that draws its […]
The sun is not the jealous type. He doesn’t feel the need to be, and why would he? He warms us and gives us light; he makes things grow. Look […]