e c l e c t i c a f i c t i o n
(Click on the title to view the whole story!)
Beyond the Piney Wood
the sky the color of blue porcelain pitchers of milk—and the wind-whipped frost flying up the cuff of my coat—and it snowing white in the yellow moon—and how what I'd remembered most after the sound and scent of the shot was the sound of soft and then brittle needles beneath my boots—and the smell of the trees and the blood and his horse—and wood smoke
In the Supermarket, On the 10
But you can't, because back there, behind you, are more lights, and this time they are mists of red and blue and some white, swiveling in your head like electric Globetrotters, and you skid to the shoulder and dust rises past the windows, and the lights filter through it like sunlight illuminating all the things you breathe but don't want to know about.
The Lost Liver
I thought I'd lucked into some free beer, but on closer inspection I found the words Human Organs printed on the side of the cooler. Naturally I thought it was a joke, but when I opened the cooler, it was no joke.
A Declaration Before the Eyes of God
She had told me that her husband was crazy, of course.
Portrait of the Artist as a Third Grade Teacher
It's right here on an ergonomic keyboard contorted like a train wreck that her impulses to organize something, anything, shrivel up in her fingers and jam the keys with good intentions.
Frederick (All She Wrote)
It's like this: Frederick was terminal and wanted to go. He found the most spiteful way. Let his daughter find him. And he made her clean up his mess one more time.
"I don't mean no disrespect, Miss Owens. Only we don't cotton to people just shooting down a deputy sheriff for no reason."
Anomie Crackers in my Soup
The women's magazines were my mother's Bible, and they uttered the dire prophecy that a family without breakfast was on its way to delinquency, divorce court, depravity.
Phoebe Kate Foster