A cramped room—tiny table, hot plate, a half-empty bottle of rye, a dingy window framed by bedraggled curtains overlooking a dark, trash-strewn alleyway. Staring back from a cracked mirror is a shadow-man, haggard beyond his years. He hung his head. If only he could return to yesterday. If only.
Justifiable reward.
Saying what needs to be said: Kids are going to die because of this insanity.
New 50-word story . . .
THE ROCK
He had learned his lessons well from sensei Shuryku. So, when he stumbled while trodding the winding path through the woods, he did not give in to the urge to cry out and curse the pain. Instead, he bowed to the rock, offered it his humble thanks and walked on.
When a man cannot run from his past any longer, he harvests the fruit of an unspeakable act.
New story!
As long as it's delivered in a brown paper bag.
My haunting story "Phantasm" is part of this handsome anthology. I hope you'll consider ordering your own copy.
Remembering a genuine Nobel laureate . . .
WINTER CHILL
The evening landscape was crystalline, brittle with cold. But I was content, brandy in hand, before the fire. Then, rapping at the front door. I opened it. There stood a young man clad in overcoat and scarf. “Yes?” “Pardon me. My name is Thomas. I believe you are my father.”
A 50-word story.
HOME
A Saturday stroll in a new town. On a whim, I turned down a sun-dappled side street and came upon a small storefront, its window chockablock with used books. Nudging open the weathered door, I stepped inside to the tinkling bell overhead. In that moment I knew I was home.
A 50-word story.
FOREWARNED
He harkened to the dove’s cooing in the cool of the morning as the sun winked past the horizon’s lip, and it soothed his soul. Yet, even as he was lulled beyond his life’s cares, he did not see far to the west the first clouds of the gathering storm.
New Story
EMBERS OF MEMORY
Of a summer’s evening we gather around the campfire, laughing and singing the old songs. Most of all we revel in the tall tales about granddad. And as we speak, each in turn with a riotous story, he comes alive once more, his ruddy face beaming in the dancing flames.
NEW STORY
What happens when a Bible-beating man of the cloth succumbs to the temptations of the flesh? I'd be pleased if you'd give my latest a read.
We passed every day, hurrying along the crowded city sidewalk. Each time, I searched her face, hoping for a glance that was never returned. Then one morning she looked my way, eyes softening, lips smiling. I exulted within, until she walked past and twined her fingers in those of another.
