Fiction

Once there was an honest man. He was a well driller. His eyes had filled with the first two wells of his life and after he could see through the surface of the earth to water awaiting his rig, not with his eyes but something like memory already there. What others called imagination the well…

He stood in the shadows as usual, as Charlotte had come to expect. He was a part, by now, of the quiet late afternoon street that gathered her in when the working day was over. It was dusk, early spring. The air was warmish, and as Charlotte rounded the corner she could smell the honeysuckle,…

During the winter of 1955, Chris took courses at Columbia. He came from Indianapolis; New York stunned him. Knowing nothing, he took a room in a railroad flat uptown near school: one room, 11 x 7, bed with a defeated mattress. It was cheap, and he could use the kitchen along with the three other…

Report: Bonnie Brown-committed 1971, age fifteen. Lesbian, user of hallucinogenics, murder suspect. Note: Dr. Frond-This patient has refused to see any of our doctors since she was admitted three years ago. Because of her supposed potential violence she has to be on complete security. She recently requested to have an appointment with a doctor, and…

It was because of the security measures at the airports – inspection of luggage and checking for metals – that I decided to take the train instead of the airplane. This way I could buy the Saturday night special here at home, and take it with me. I have no way of knowing how I…

– I just read a learned article on Nutrition and Behavior and my intelligence was severely dimmed, darkened and demonized. – I am trying, was trying to help Cynthia write a paper summarizing the last six months of our romance for the Ford Foundation. The coverup story is about Nutrition and Neurological Disturbances but I…

`Over there, Bart, on the other side of the street,' Ella said, pointing to a vacant house, its uncurtained windows pasted with placards. It was an evening in early spring and they were strolling back along Rathmines Road in the last of the light, going towards Ella's house, which was just off the main road….

It was a bad time. Billy Boy Watkins was dead, and so was Frenchie Tucker. Billy Boy had died of fright, scared to death on the field of battle, and Frenchie Tucker had been shot through the neck. Lieutenants Sidney Martin and Walter Gleason had died in tunnels. Pederson was dead and Bernie Lynn was…

"Hi, honey." "Oh, Daddy," Carolyn said. "It took you so long. Where are you calling from?" "The hospital," he said. "Where else? I haven't stuck my nose out of this cotton-picking place since eight o'clock this morning, and I don't feel like going home." "Well, how is she?" "I think she knew me, but she…