Sunday Photo Fiction

Bow Oar’s Lament

A thin winter’s moon cast its watery light across the pool beneath the Tower gate. A pair of boatmen rowed the prisoner with muffled oars.  Beneath the stinking  burlap hood, the chained man was also gagged, lest he attempt to bribe the rowers. He was known to be a silken-tongued devil, and Cromwell was taking no chances. The oarsmen backed water as they waited

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The Master of Angers

    Abbot Gírad d’Cist took an avid interest in the drawings the master mason etched in smooth plaster to help guide construction, especially those that depicted how Angers Cathedral would look to an observer.  He clapped his hands in delight. “You must understand, Excellency,” said the master mason, “we are years away from what you see here. Decades.”

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10-54

I was early shift on Sunday, so I caught the call. My partner  was AWOL, so I stopped by his apartment on the way to the scene, dragged his booze-reeking carcass out of bed. A lady patrolman was putting crime scene tape across the door when we got there. “Hold on there, Darling,” said Bill.

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Señor Palomino

Though he spoke nothing but Spanish, he insisted he was Italian. In all the years he worked for us I never saw him wear anything but twill workman’s coveralls and boots, the soiled black Basque beret as much a part of his head as his nose. Señor Palomino was never addressed by his first name and seldom spoke

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Torn From The Headlines

DOVER JANUARY 16- Wire Service Report Three bodies were found at the foot of Langdon Cliffs near Dover on New Year’s Day. Kent Police said the unnamed siblings, believed to be 59, were from the Cheshire area. Their deaths are not thought to be connected to the third person, a 45-year-old man from the Greater Manchester area. None of the

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Thuyền Nhân

The storm blew for three days, took the remaining mast and two of the older children as they bailed with their little hands in a desperate attempt to keep the boat from swamping. Suong had helped as much as she could, but fifty days on the sea had left her so weak she could hardly sit up.

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The Priest Offers

The priest walks around the cluttered work table, drags a finger down its surface and holds it up for inspection. He scowls and wipes it on his cassock, walks slowly up the stairs to the kitchen. He stands before her, hands clasped behind him. “Listen, daughter. I came to speak to your husband about his reputation. I do

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Air and Space

She agrees to meet me at the museum. I know the second I see her. It’s on her face. Doom. I smile anyway. “You remember this place?” I say, as though nothing is wrong. As though last night had never happened. “Our first date?” “It wasn’t a date,” she says. “We need to talk.” “We

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Llegué a Pisinemo

She could see the pottery shop owner was Mexican, but she did not tell him how she had gotten to Arizona. There had been sixty of them who met in Reforma to begin the journey through the desert night. They each carried two gallons of water. Their coyote set an impossible pace to cover maximum distance while it was still dark and

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The Cure

Any regular reader of the tabloid press will tell you that it’s not a matter of money. It’s not a matter of success. Last year I was paid three million an episode, plus residuals. I had a loft in Tribeca, a stilt-house on Maui and a recently-acquired chateau in the Basque Pyrenees. I had a stack of scripts

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