Colin Pierce’s first goal was to christen his homecoming with a cold beer. Two beers. Poking someone in the nose might also be a gratifying way to say, “I’m back.” He banged open the door to O’Malley’s Plimsoll Line, the bar where he’d had his …
Sometimes there’s a girl named Sarina or Sabrina who invites you to places you don’t belong and presses a drink into your hand like a mismatched puzzle piece and disappears and finds you again later and walks you to the bathroom and holds your hair …
The Fundamentals: Fifty years ago my mother laughed with our neighbor George Evers on his porch while my little brother Will flew into a rose bush. Of all the memories of my childhood this is the one that keeps resurfacing. The Perfume: My mother’s …
I. The President of the Strongest Country in the World sits quietly, alone, in the Situation Room of the president’s Historic Dwelling. He is vaguely aware of a tiny, almost pleasant, pressure deep inside his brain. A very large screen television is on, turned to …
You could say that this a story within a story within a story. Please understand. I am a novice writer, so I shall tell my story as it comes to me. I have limited resources; one leather-bound notebook, one pen and one bottle of ink …
“Do you believe in God?” “No.” “Why not?” “Cos I ain’t never seen him.” Michael and Marcus sat by themselves, alone but for the soft whisperings of a summer’s breeze. “Do you believe in heaven?” continued Michael. “No.” “Why?” “Cos I ain’t never seen that, …
Officially I didn’t believe in angels, but here one was replete with feathery wings and hovering, glowing halo, which lit the four bare walls of my bedroom quite clearly. When I awoke, she was already smiling down at me beatifically. …
I could see why he’d wanted the journal: “I wriggled my toes in the cold, red sands. Watching the sun rise over the dunes. I knew that before long, the sand would be too hot for bare feet: a blistering lesson from yesterday. The dry …
Of these stories, the second telling could be true. Or perhaps the third. Or even the fifth, which has no title yet. Consider yourself lucky. Everything changes too quickly to keep up with. Here is how the first story goes. I was singing alone in …
Annabel White sat in one of those semi-comfortable lobby chairs, her leg bobbing up and down. The chair was not uncomfortable—it was certainly soft—but its cushion was bumpy, its innards having been unevenly rearranged by the many bottoms that had sat there before hers. Annabel was …
