(Dedicated to Tony Morris) As a man sow, shall he reap. – Bob Marley You’ve heard the warning. Don't try this at home. Here's another one for the list. Detoxing from alcohol. I already knew that, having endured it enough times to prove every theory of alcoholic insanity. But here I was again, 2:00 a.m., alone in bed. My longtime girlfriend, LeAnne, had deserted months earlier, weary of my lurching trip along the bottom. “Don’t call me,” was her parting salvo, “until you

“That’s right, Daddy’s lost.” Arthur pushed Lori along in her stroller. “Lost.” He flapped his hands out to either side of his body as he emphasized the first consonant sound of the word “L-l-l-lost.” “Where are we?” he crowed, then tickled his daughter’s nose, repeating his query twice, each time speaking in a more elevated sing-song, “Where are we? Where are weeee?” The baby giggled and cooed. She answered with a long happy babble, even offering up a few rewarding “da

Mr. Morton needed a new pair of shoes. That’s what Grace had said in her message. His loafers were tattered and the soles had worn thin. But even more than replacing the loafers, he needed dress shoes. Something nice that would go with the black suit hanging in his closet. It just wouldn’t look right otherwise is what Grace had said. And now the shoes had been added to Rosie’s “To Do” list. A list that Rosie had never failed to fulfill. Rosie was wondering about the

Debbie dropped her luggage on the floor of the little efficiency apartment allocated to her in the Bradbury habitat on Mars and sneezed. The sound bounced back and forth from one wall to another, increasing in annoyance with each bounce. The apartment seemed spotless at first, but when she looked at the furniture, walls, and floors more carefully, she saw that they were covered with a light but uniformly thin layer of pinkish dust, possibly causing the subtle scent of pero

A magnet held the snippet to Leah’s refrigerator door. She remembered the jagged hole the words left when she desperately cut the lines out of the Burgundy Square Gazette on that rueful May day in 1983. The divorced man’s inability to commit is his problem and has nothing whatsoever to do with your supposed inadequacies. And the biggest mistake a woman can make is to assume she is responsible for a divorced man’s unstable feelings. She knew she ought to throw the littl

It was a silent night, but it was far from holy. Ink-black sky stretched above, untouched by stars. Winter clung to the air, sharp and...

I leaned against my father’s truck, breathing in the humid city air. I didn’t live in this part of town. It was too rich for my blood. But my father delivered ice to over a dozen restaurants in the city, including a couple in this area. “Hey,” someone shouted from across the street. I looked the man’s way and raised my index finger, pointing it at my chest. “Yeah, you,” he said. “Come here.” I glanced over my shoulder, spotting my father inside the restaur

Mass confusion greets Officers Williams and Sawyer as they stare through their tinted squad car window, but maybe that’s to be expected...

The fishermen saw the smoke first. Their shouts alerted the men in their workshops on the hill, who seized what tools might serve for...

When we practice generosity and forgiveness, we reflect the image of God. – Mac Canoza I was sitting on the toilet when I got the...

Three tattoos and three people with vastly different lived experiences collide in this flash fiction story.

She lived for the cool night breeze, like a cloud in the sky, free and easy, always wandering. I often wondered if she’d just wandered...

Dedicated to Louis Clinton Carrier, my grandfather I remember running through the forest of endless trees, skylight breaking...

You forced my hand. When you modernized, flying all around the world in your airplanes, I could have mutated, evolved. I could have...

The tracks parallel the Japan Sea coast. On one side, a fishing boat’s lights on dark water, on the other, towns too small for a stop,...

Lystra left the river behind her, walking with her basket of clean clothes on her head, wishing for the hundredth time that she could...

Do I or do I not cross? The question echoes in my mind as I watch the rolling hills outside my window. Clumps of green that rise and...

I was thirteen years old that July in 1952 that they let Uncle Buddy out of the pen long enough to come home for Mammaw’s funeral, or so...

One night when I was about 10, I dreamt I was in a library. A lady walked up. She looked familiar. She didn’t say anything but when...

Four weeks in, as a petition for absolution, I hiked, occasionally encountering other pilgrims as we weaved France’s verdant, wooded,...