Tag Fiction

Something to the West

Alan finished the last of his smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, turned to Monica, and said, “Let’s take a walk on the beach.” “The open air would be nice,” she said. The waitress arrived with the bill, and Alan said, “Wonderful service. And our compliments to the chef for a superb breakfast.” “And thank you for visiting Cuchulainn’s Pub, sir,” she said. “It’s nice to take care of courteous Americans.

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Above the Trees

Brian Shepard woke from a dream in the still of the night and sat up in bed. He had been standing alone on the top of a hill, pleading for someone to come to him, take him by the hand, and guide him safely down the hill, but he remained alone no matter how much he pleaded, his words lost in the wind. His dreams had intensified now that he

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Cole

It’s an old railroad style house fronting a thin street, not far from the train tracks and stockyards. Cole comes out the front door for a moment to check on his motorcycle; he won’t be staying long, but it’s dusk and he knows the neighborhood. The icy wind stings his face like bees. He’s visiting Lillian, his mother. She’s invited him here, as she does once in a blue moon,

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Card Trick

            The day is as big as she ever remembers one being. But it starts the same way all the others do, with him.             “Mer-wee!” It’s only a slight slur today. That’s good. On others his speech comes out in thick moans that crawl across the smoke-filled air onto bare walls, once bright white but now stained yellow, and up her spine. Those moans

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Ocean Beach

Moose rose from his stool in Mother’s Saloon at last call and tossed four twenties on the bar, not knowing how much he owed and not caring. He strolled out the front door and onto the beach. He peeled off his t-shirt, tossed it in the sand, and lumbered toward the water in nothing but his shorts and sandals. Thirty feet from the shoreline, he lay down on his side,

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Windansea

It had been pouring rain all morning at Windansea Beach on the San Diego coastline. Cynthia Perez stood under a thatched hut of desiccating King Palm fronds that stood just twenty yards from the water near a group of smooth, caramel-colored rock formations. Perfect A-frame waves broke there all day long, converging into one sharp point. These were thick, heavy waves that the local surfers appreciated, but on this day,

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