The short fiction of j hardy carroll
“Where can he be?” said Lakshmi. “He’s often late these days,” said Bhavana. “He told me people stop him on the street.” “I know, but never this long. Almost three hours. Look at the crowd.” She gestured to the throng of patients outside the door of the clinic. “We’ll never see them all today.” “I’ll…
They sat on the hard bench in the waiting room. The deputy had his feet up on his desk to show the visitors his bored indifference. Hosea glanced at John, erect and proper in a good blue suit and white shirt, clenched hands the only indication of his growing impatience. John rose and walked over…
Ilnah lay back on the cot, the blood-spattered handkerchief in her limp hands. Every few minutes her bony body was wracked by shattering coughs that sounded like her lungs were coming apart. Sister Ignatia stood in the doorway of the hospital hut, running the Rosary through her fingers. After Henintsoa’s death the previous afternoon, Ilnah…
Dr. Soames rinsed his bloody hands in the basin provided for the purpose, then wiped them dry on his smock. The patient lay back, pale and gasping, his clay-like face mottled and streaked with broken blood vessels. Despite the leather gag, he had done a good deal of screaming as his leg was amputated. Soames’s…
Ari ordered a Turkish coffee at the counter. The cafe was crowded with men sitting in groups of ones or twos, talking or doing business. These days it was impossible to tell at a glance the Jews from the Arabs. Young men with dark hair and golden skin, all of them with cellphones in their…
“Where are you going, Tupac?” Marisól asked. “Out,” he said. “With whom?” She stepped in to block him from the door. The combination of her bulk and moral authority were impenetrable. He sighed. “With Carlitos and Nando.” “Always those boys with their spray paint and skateboards and slang.” “They’re good guys, Mamá. Carlitos is at…
My grandfather started this cattle station back in the goldfield days. I was born here and lived my whole life here, excepting the war years when I was in Malaya. We have the devil’s own time keepin’ white ringers on the station. They start out all right, but none of them lasts a half-year. Most…
Captain Cheap had never been popular at the best of times, and as food ran short he was less so. Added to this was the fact that the injuries he’d sustained in the wreck left him barely able to walk. He spent his days sequestered in the one surviving tent with guards posted outside. The…
It was early morning as I came round the barn and saw Calraigh’s Ford puttering up the hill. He’ll have news, then, I thought, and no more. Ciaran was in the barn tending our mutual friend, as we called the hostage. He wasn’t a bad sort, the Major. In Killylastin we’d be reared to hate the…
He wanted to get away from her, from them. If he was honest, from himself. He didn’t announce it because it wasn’t planned. One day he’d grabbed his passport and driven to a used car lot, taken the salesman’s first offer and hitched a ride to the Greyhound station. On the San Diego docks, he…