Friday Fictioneers

This Again

I know this place. Of course. You have been here many times. Countless. But why am I here again? You do not remember? Is that world you cared so much about already gone from your recollection? It seems like a dream I had as a child. You have said that before. How do you feel?

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D.O.S. (Disintegrating on Schedule)

I don’t recall the picture, only that it starred an actor who was young and handsome at the start of his career fifty years ago but was now an aged relic. Dark thoughts in the darkened theater as I watched the folds of wizened skin beneath  the famous chiseled jaw, pouches beneath the steel-gray eyes.  Projected

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After Orcas

It’s not the place.  She kept telling herself this, but it wasn’t helping. She swallowed, the acrid taste of bile in her throat. It was cold on deck, the wind’s icy fingers prying open the buttons of her coat. She gripped the steel rail as she watched the bow cleave the black water. The motors’

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Sanctuary

At first I denied it, telling myself autumn was coming early. Leaves can begin to turn in July. It had been a dry spring. But there were the birds. In the three weeks since coming here we hadn’t seen a single bird. I took up the satchel of food I’d scavenged from the deserted  grocery.

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They Are Real

She sat cradling her mug of tea. From time to time she would lower her face to it, close her eyes and inhale the fragrant steam. This was the tenth night in a row she had awakened screaming at precisely 2:10 am, the tenth morning after she had lain awake with the visions she would

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Is This Sunday?

“Where is my coffee?” “It’s right there in front of you, dear.” “Ah. Yes. So it is!” He lifted it to his lips and for a moment I could again see what he’d looked like as a little boy. “Oh, this is good. What is it again?” “It’s coffee, dear. Just as you like it.”

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Hanbleceya

The old man turned off the truck. The only sound was the Ford’s engine ticking as it cooled. “Well,” said Cole. “Guess I better get started.” “Guess you better,” said the old man. Cole opened the door and stepped onto the rocky ground. The old man got out and came around to stand next to

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Their Problem

“Abel and Moses won’t be coming today,” she said, reading the note the boy had given her. “They’re down with the itch.” “Goddamn them shiftless sons of bitches,” he said. “We got three days of harvest, and they got to be sick.” “Doc Jenks thinks it’s some kind of Negro smallpox,” she said. “Most of

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One of His Moods

My father was in one of his moods. Arms crossed, he sat in the front seat glaring at us through the windshield. “Why is Grandpa mad?” Buddy asked. “Doesn’t he like camping?” “Obviously not,” Cliff said. “Why’d we bring him then?” I looked at Cliff. “He can’t stay alone, Bud. You know that.” “Why not?”

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We Need to Talk

She searched for the right word. Hostility? No, that wasn’t right. Indifferent? She’d once read that the opposite of love wasn’t hate at all, but indifference. Was that what she felt? It was hard to say. She listened to him in the shower singing his same old shower song. Skylark, have you anything to say to me? He would

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