Category Archive Browsing Category: Friday Fictioneers

Her stories are all half-stories. She remembers the wall but not the door, the journey but not the destination. First names or last names, but never both. Nothing is true, nothing is false. The priest is summoned. At her confession, she will not completely recount her sins. He cannot absolve her. She gets up from kneeling  and walks to…

She’s back from the hospital. For the first time in twenty-five years, she’ll be home for Christmas. No more touring. I suppose I knew what I was getting when I married her. She was fond of reminding me herself.  In truth, it was when I saw her play that I truly fell in love with…

A woodcutter was working in the forest. He swung his axe without ceasing, for he was a proud man who did not believe in weariness. Soon, he had felled every tree within reach until all that was left was The Ancient Giant. Generations of woodcutters had refrained from cutting this colossal tree, which had a girth…

Cleo woke to the headlights rolling across the doorway as a car pulled off 66. She roused herself, stretched her sore back. A man climbed out of the car and came toward her, keys jingling. He wore  khaki coveralls and a cap emblazoned with the Texaco star. “We’re not open yet,” he said cheerfully. “You by yourself?”…

Some of the other Marines joshed Peters about being a soft touch. He always loaded up on cigarettes and candy before going to the brig for the daily interrogation and gave these out freely to every prisoner he came across. The other boys preferred the brutal approach. They would lock a prisoner in a footlocker full of roaches or cuff him…

You aren’t supposed to blame the parents, but you do anyway. Parents are expected to stick by their children no matter what. Maybe it’s worse than outliving them, sitting there in the courtroom while witnesses describe the horrors in excruciating detail, first to the prosecutor and then to the defense. How familiar the situation must be to…

The power went out with a silence so vast it was a sound in itself. We were so accustomed to the constant noise everywhere we went, the continual accompaniment of music playing somewhere, the low drone of the refrigerator’s compressor, the whir of a wall clock. And outside, the rush of distant traffic punctuated by the sounds of trucks and racing…

Father cautioned that it would not be the same. We were lucky, he said, to have kept the place at all. Mother said nothing, but we all knew that her family had owned that particular block since well before the turn of the century. The only reason we still had it was that the deed was in…

Troy loved his headphones. He wore them all the time. Noise canceling, with incredible dynamic range. He bragged that they cost a month’s rent and were worth every penny. That’s why he just sat there when it happened, staring at his screen,  typing lines of code and drinking his Mountain Dew. He didn’t hear the alarm,…

IN THE END, he stopped talking about it. Nobody had believed him, and one old friend had gone so far as to question his sanity in print. There was was a savagery in the piece that make it more like betrayal than incredulity. And it was incredible, the more so in that out of the millions of camera phones…