The short fiction of j hardy carroll
George stood at his mother’s door and composed his expression. For years now the mere mention of Arlington was apt to send her into fits, and her health had not been good. She could read his face like a headline. Still, this was good news––of a sort. He tapped and entered. She sat upright in…
“Have you ever seen such a horseman?” Yanjmaa had not. Certainly she had seen great riders, even a Mongol cavalryman famous for throwing a dagger and skewering a running rabbit as he galloped past, reigning in and bending in the saddle to retrieve both weapon and quarry in one quick motion. But she had never…
She ran her hands over her leather-clad thighs, flexed her fingers. Her trusty Bell helmet had been knocked askew in the tumble but seemed sound enough. She pulled it around so she could see her situation. Her motorbike was on its side, about six feet from the cliff edge. She breathed a sigh of relief,…
He took his time with the adze, setting it against the wood with relaxed precision and drawing it across the grain as though floating a scarf through the air. The bright curls of oak drifted down onto the toes of his boots. He set the adze aside and ran his hand along the smooth board,…
I learn this from Bonifatius Mbwale. He is known to lie, but to tell a proper story both truth and lies are often employed. Bonifatius is a man of such power that it is better to believe him than not, for to contradict him can lead to many evils. Bonifatius tell me, “You walk around…
Young Nor is not listening. He stares into his phone, rubbing it with an index finger, the old man notes, the way one might stroke a parrot’s head. Old Nor tips his wicker chair to take advantage of the shade cast by the broad-leaf elephant ear plant that has been next to the doorway for…
A small blue Ford stood with all its doors open. A little man in a white shirt and sunglasses stood by with crossed arms, smiling as we approached. We got in. He stomped on the gas, caroming into the flow of traffic with utter disregard. Joe covered his face with his hands and groaned. The…
Marshal Gororov sat behind the vast desk. He stirred his tea with vigor. The cup was a Russian one, clear glass in an elegant silver holder. Gororov held up the glass, pointing at the swirling sugar cube with his teaspoon. “You see how it it does not dissolve?” he said. Bergmanis was unused to the…
Jammy Doggs stepped into sea and waded out, the pull of the waves sweet against his legs. He bent to feel the water between his fingers, test the temperature against the eighty years of sea wisdom he held in his heart. The gentle fog rolled across the waves, cool and lovely. The white sand shone…
Pricket sat in his cabin and stared again at his chart. Clearly there was no Northwest Passage and never had been. They’d been embayed in ice these last six months, starving and riddled with scurvy and flux. With the slow coming of spring they had a chance to take leave of this damnable wasteland, sail…