The short fiction of j hardy carroll
November 23rd, 1997 The neighborhood was located in a little triangle formed by the intersection of two major highways. For once, the highway designers had gotten it right, placing the on and off-ramps in such a way that they were both invisible and practically inaudible to the homes of the neighborhood. My friends Holly and…
Only the pain was real. His daddy standing over him wasn’t, dead years gone, dead of some fool accident that made this one look minor. Yeah, minor. He laughed, more of the pain arriving along with the laugh. He wondered again why he didn’t bleed out. There was blood enough, clinging cold on what was left…
Here’s a new prompt. I love these things. Beats the seemingly endless cycle of revision, anyway. Mrs. Maurice was obviously losing her temper. “Young man, I’ll have you know that there would not even be a Prinn County Museum were it not for the generosity of Mr. Maurice.” Jared looked past her in the hope…
A once heard it said that a good diary entry is a letter written to your future self. Using this maxim as a pole star, your can address daily happenings and the emotions they engender with a frankness impossible in, say, a letter to your mom. I keep it in mind when I write in my diary…
Anther prompt from Rochelle, 100 words based on the picture below. The foreman cursed and screamed. Jesús understood little, but he took the meaning. The foreman eventually lost all composure, taking Jesús up by the straps of his overalls and fairly lifting him off the ground. His reddening face now inches away, flecks of spittle landing on Jesús’ cheeks…