Author Archives: BULL Author

My Father’s Son

My Father’s Son

CREATIVE NONFICTION by

I’ve written it a thousand times and never gotten any further. My father is a murderer. My father is a murderer. We haven’t seen each other in two decades but it repeats in my head like a mantra I cannot shake. If half of me is him and he is a murderer, what did I inherit? Who am I if I am some of him?more

Letter to a Co-Worker (Undelivered)

Letter to a Co-Worker (Undelivered)

FICTION by

What you will never know is how often I replay that night at the bar, how I re-invent the storyline so that it ends with you and me driving wildly somewhere, parking, laughing at our indiscretion, your hands everywhere, your silence, your noise, our giddiness afterwards.more

Silver Lake

Silver Lake

FICTION by

When the mills closed we made great efforts to forget our wealth but it was like someone had died.more

A Good Night

A Good Night

FICTION by

Neil watches the train cars speed past. Empty seats lit in garish white fluorescent lights. Then he sees it. Or thinks he sees it. A fight. Fifteen, twenty men in a carriage. Violent action passing almost too quickly to register. The train is gone.more

Zac

Zac

FICTION by

Aaron was the one who was married, who wanted to be discreet. Brice was the one who was new to town, who wanted to make friends. Chris was the one who posted photos of his chest and arms, never his face. Doug was the one who posted photos of everyone, of his brother, niece, cat.more

A Game Toe Remember

A Game Toe Remember

FICTION by

Per the rules we had established, I had to pull his shoes and socks off and he mine. We wanted to lead our toe competition with good sportsmanship.more

Missing

Missing

FICTION by

Footsteps. The sound of someone walking toward me. I don’t look up. They stop. I feel them near me. I feel them looking down at me. I wait but they don’t speak. I wait to be nudged, told to move.more

Rehab

Rehab

FICTION by

I didn’t hear the backyard gate open or a greeting, if there was a greeting, until the stranger’s head was right next to mine, one eye closed. I smelled beer. “Well, looks like you’ve got yourself quite a project here.”more

Two Stories

Two Stories

FICTION by

Marty dives under the water and pulls her by the ankle back into the pool. Mabel struggles to get away. They are flipping and flapping, spraying water everywhere. The lifeguard thinks how much these two look like the fish his uncle catches when they go out on his boat on Sundays.more

Pushing Up Daisies

Pushing Up Daisies

FICTION by

In the woods lives your exhales and resting peace. Selfcare is an oak leaf. Thoreau was a phony. You’ll never work in television.more