He was raised by a bunch of men who defined every valuable thing by the color of the man or woman who possessed it.
If a fancy car was driven by a white man, it was a sign of success and class. By a black man, it musta been stolen.
For the first fifteen years of his life, he didn’t know better. He thought the same, talked the same, and figured everybody else been raised like him.
Then he almost died. A man he didn’t know, a man owed him nothing, saved his life. A man with skin many shades darker than his own.
Racing the back roads, he flipped his car. A black man walking the road with a big pack on his back stopped to help. His girlfriend told him in the hospital the man trained as a medic in the Army.
Without him, without his skills and his mercy, he would have died.
Continue reading “Value | A Short Story”
She stood with her feet in the sand, watching the tide to go out.
A moment of peace. Enjoying the breeze on her face and the sunshine beating down.
Any minute now, that peace would be shattered and she was trying not to brace for it. She heard once that if you’re about to be in an accident, relax.
She took several deep breaths in, let them out, closed her eyes, and soaked up the sun, the breeze, the smell of the water.
Behind her, a man’s voice said, “Miss. Miss, I’m going to ask you to please drop your weapon. Will you do that for me?”
Continue reading “Curiosity | A Short Story”
She liked to watch the windmills. Sometimes, she’d climb out on the roof of her house and watch them as the sun rose or set for the day.
It was peaceful, calming.
She was jealous of the wind. It could go anywhere it wanted. See the cities and the wild places. Blow past people she’d never meet and carry scents she’d never smell.
The windmills went up when she was a very little girl. The year her mother brought home her baby brother. They were like alien technology on the flat land they lived on. Jutting up into the sky with sharp edges and constant movement.
Continue reading “Windmills | A Short Story”
He watched as the balloons floated higher and higher on the most perfect day of the summer. A day of sunshine and cool breezes and ice cream and laughter.
He loved the trees here but he was glad the balloons wouldn’t hit them. He was glad they wouldn’t pop. He was curious about how long he could watch them until they were out of sight.
They were pink balloons but in the sunlight, they looked gold. Bright gold because it was his wife’s favorite color. While some people made gold seem cheap or like they were trying too hard, Monica knew exactly how to use it on furniture, stationary, and herself that made people sigh in pleasure.
Continue reading “Drifting | A Short Story”
The end of the day was the worst part. The sun going down meant walking back to the house. Back to the silence. Back to the slow, insane beep of medical machinery.
Keeping his son alive. In a place that was neither dead nor living…purgatory for those whose hearts continued to beat without a single electrical pulse in the brain.
The long ago little boy he’d loved more than he loved himself. His only child. The young man on his way home from college, taken by a drunk driver on a cold night a year before while his father slept, unknowing.
The nurses were kind. The doctor was kind. Everyone who came by was fucking kind.
He didn’t feel kind. He wanted to slash and batter and scream.
Continue reading “Day’s End | A Short Story”