In the watered down version of you, you are merely an acquaintance not the love from my youth. In this version, you are smaller with those thin hands that keep slipping through mine. And, yes, you still speak with a bit of a southern accent, but it’s not smooth or gentle. This voice does not grasp me at once wrapping me in the light that was you. Those sweetheart-baby doll-honey-sugar words...

Added 21 Nov 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 2 | Avg Score 5 | Views 96 | 2 Comments

Jacob calls me in the afternoons, around three to make sure I am out of bed. On this day, I am groggy, but I still answer. “Let’s go have a margarita at that Mexican place by the gallery tonight,” he says. “Not yet. OK?” “Oh, come now, Jane! They have great fajitas, killer salsa. Besides, margaritas are your fav!” “I’m not up for it. Not today,” “Have you been able to paint?” “No.” ...

Added 19 Nov 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 1 | Avg Score 5 | Views 113 | 1 Comment

They called you King Edward. You were King of your ground.  Whether we were lonely, joyful, worn-down, or heartbroken, riding down the highway of life, with a switch of the radio, you could fill days with illusions to match any mood. There were colors spilling from the guitar, swirling into sounds that shook us, wrapped us, the eruption we didn’t expect. You molded our tiny, fragile...

Added 14 Oct 2020 | Category Micro Fiction | Votes 3 | Avg Score 5 | Views 103 | 3 Comments

You weren’t always a ghost, sometimes a bit distant or “emotionally reserved” as they say, this easy, strong, quiet presence. Six feet tall and suave, you with the crazy wave in your hair, fierce dimples, a hint of gold around your pupils, all of it. You wrapped me. I was a junkie for years before the doctor gave us the diagnosis, that dim one. And so in time, you began to diminish. Mouth...

Added 06 Oct 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 4 | Avg Score 5 | Views 213 | 4 Comments

It’s 4 AM. My mother wants to drive. There’s nowhere for us to go, but she wants to tell me about Jesus, the devil, and music. It’s summertime. I don’t get to go to school. She has turned the radio knob up as high as it will go, and the sounds of pianos, guitars, and horns fill the air. My mother used to be a sexy singer in a cocktail lounge before her head got sick, all sour. Now, she...

Added 04 Oct 2020 | Category Flash Fiction | Votes 6 | Avg Score 5 | Views 198 | 6 Comments