Mom said the Lord blessed me with a gift that would make people who loved me happy and people who mistreated me dead. … more
Tag Archives: Rural
Dry Rot
FICTION by Helena PantsisThe wind seemed to grow colder. John’s breath was held. He stayed entirely still, unmoving even at the will of the thankless, dry gale. In a jagged clash of metal against snake leather, the snake was stopped short.… more
Thoughts of Death in the Big Country Morning
FICTION by J. BillingsHe would stand on the porch and curse the trains in the distance and then move to the meadow and sit still, so to watch the deer moving slowly through the long grass, and then he would go to the edge of the pond at night and look at the beautiful moonlight mixing like oil into the pond water and he would think about putting a bullet straight through his brain and sinking to the moss at the bottom of the water.… more
True Outlaw
FICTION by Brent AtkinsonSanta Claus always gets the credit for delivering Christmas gifts, but it was tired, overworked bastards like me making sure everything got there on time, 13-speed, 500-horsepower white Freightliner pulling a dry van, and rather than shouting ho-ho-ho and whipping reins, we were throwing gears and blowing our horns at assholes in beemers cutting us off at every exit.… more
One Hundred Knives
FICTION by Josh DaleI made a rule in the old apartment not to answer the phone during exercise time, but this was a new house, my house. I make a new rule, pull the phone out.… more
Ralphie is a Good Boy
FICTION by Sacha BissonnetteRalphie is a good dog. We say “Good boy!” and “Good doggie!” because Ralphie can wait patiently for his turn to eat. Ma says, “Patience is a virtue.” So when Ralphie waits patiently by the table for us to be done, Ma lets him clean up the scraps. Ralphie is a Golden Lab. He is… more
Relentless
FICTION by K. A. TateA good Christian boy learns to lie to himself in profound ways.… more
Good at Finding
FICTION by Sacha BissonnetteI can still hear her sayin’, “Why you want to clean up after people’s dirty selves. Not too much pride in that.”… more
HARVEST
FICTION by Evan GrayBut Myers always wanted to quit the mine that he worked full time for, to fold his workpants up, shove them into the woodstove, beat across Field’s Church Road down to the riverbank, and slowly drown himself, strangling on the water, washing the ash and dust out of his eardrums, and die in a pure way, natural, so he wouldn’t end up dirty like his father, hanging from the main beam, filthy as a day’s work. … more
