Short Fiction
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The Blue Route was an endless river slithering before them. There were only a few cars on the road. Mostly only big rigs like theirs sailed up and down the highway. Trevor fidgeted.Trevor missed his bed, his iPad, and his girlfriend Bree in that order. This was his first ride along with Mercury Transit. He
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It was a typical night. Carlita was crocheting a shawl while Davy was idly flipping through an old magazine. The Pat Metheny Group played on the stereo and half a bottle of the good red was gone. Pretending to read a news magazine, Davy shifted over and over again in his favorite chair. A half
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“Sir do you know why we are stopping you?” PC Oberon asked by the side of the road.“I’ve done nothing wrong, Officer. I don’t know why I’m being detained. I wasn’t speeding.” Grinning broadly, Jack drummed his fingers on his steering wheel to the beat of the music playing on the radio. Wiry and young,
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I don’t like Mr. Boule. I’m in the minority here. Everybody adores the new English teacher. He took over Old Lady Lictenstein’s AP English and immediately started a zine with the AP nerds and the Business English ‘tards. He started a monthly poetry slam. Thet is always on my ass to join Boule’s graphic novel
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“Dearest, that hat does nothing for you. Don’t make a face I’m only trying to help you look better. Speaking of needing help, have you heard about the Perraults? Where have you been under a bridge? I heard from my girl who heard from the butcher’s that the Perrault girl eloped with a nobleman’s son.
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I had to kill her. I never thought I could think such a thing. She was a piece of me as much as if she was my flesh. Hans married me for my face, another ornament for his pretty collection. Without a dowry and over 21, I was no bargain according to my eldest brother.
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Dear Diary,I promised myself a good day. I promised. I woke up happy at least happy enough. I took deep breaths on the hill by the split oak. I gathered mulberries for my porridge. I tended my garden and collected chamomile, ginger, wild lavender, and armfuls of mint to barter in the market. Maybe some
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“Good morning, Miss Dalrymple. I’m sorry to have to bring you in today,” Vice Principal Greenleaf said in his most solemn voice.“Morning, sir. Don’t be sorry. My old auntie Daisy always said any day you wake up is a good day.”The young teacher’s cheerful disposition radiated in the shaded administrative office. Greenleaf adjusted his tie
circular staircase 