Category Archives: Fiction

Fiction: Philip and Short Wing


This is an excerpt from a larger work in progress titled “Home by the Sea”

To give a little context: the main character is on the way to his Uncle’s funeral.  During a plane flight dominated by turbulence, he tries to find peace in remembering a story his Uncle once told him about flying…

Once upon a time,

as these things generally begin,

there was a happy family of Fletchers, who lived in a cottage on the coast of the Aegean Sea. Mother and Father made and mended fishing nets, and were teaching their young son Philip the trade as well. It was a fine, pleasant life for everyone. The family was renowned for making the strongest and lightest nets in the region. Trade was brisk, the work steady, but not overwhelming.

On the weekends when the sun was out and the water was calm, which was often, Philip and his father would go on fishing trips, taking a row boat out onto the sea to fish for sea bass, bream, and yellowtail.

One day in early spring, on one such fishing trip, the perfect weather turned quickly dire. A storm came on with a sudden ferocity, knocking Philip from the boat. Swift currents carried him away from his father.

Do not worry.  That is not the end of Philip’s story.

It is only the beginning.

Philip and Short Wing

Philip woke up with the sun shining down on his face and the cries of a great many birds piercing the air.

The cool surf was brushing against his feet and lower legs. Sand beneath his head. His body was a wreck of soreness, and his eyes felt all gummy. He gradually sat up to find himself on an unfamiliar beach. Continue reading Fiction: Philip and Short Wing


Fiction: Bombs Away Pilgrims (SHE excerpt)

“Bombs away Pilgrims”

Your flight attendant says, as you find yourself scrambling wildly for the complimentary seasoned nut pouch.  The plane falters momentarily, and you are reminded of your mother’s firm grip on your childhood: shaky, stifling.

Engines cough, sputter, and choke, and the scent of burning ozone drifts through the corridors of your nasal passages.  You begin to suspect that this is not the smoking section, despite the stewardess’ flaming attitude to match her shouldering beehive. Continue reading Fiction: Bombs Away Pilgrims (SHE excerpt)

Fiction Short: Welcome to Mexico

Author Note: One from the archives.  I wrote this in July, 2012 – posting today in honor of Turn Back Thursday.  Feeling oddy prescient with the GOP discussion on borders and immigration in this election year.


“Phase one government curfew to be enforced in three…two … ”

It was after seven, but before eight.  You could tell because after eight p.m. phase two commenced and they never gave you a warning.  Citizen or not, you were made to pay then and there in live ordinance.  I have several scars that can attest to this.

“Citizen code twelve foxtrot zero zero charlie seven zero five.”  The nonsense code that once tripped up my tongue came forth easy and sure.

The drone bot had that infinitesimal pause as it communicated with whatever higher power was listening, probably in Tucson.  “Thank you citizen, your code has been logged, be safe and go home.  Phase two government curfew commencing in twenty-five minutes.” Continue reading Fiction Short: Welcome to Mexico

Fiction Short: Bricks


And here (ahem) here we see the STRA-tam of the distinguishable ages of the brick.

That is to say internally consistent characteristics (i.e. color, texture, TASTE) that distinguishes it from contiguous layers. Individual bands may vary in thickness from a few millimeters to a kilometer or more. Each band represents a specific mode of brickmologly (the Portuguese call this Tijology, which some might find easier to say or remember, this will get you extra credit on the final exam) wherewithall the brick, being exposed to variances in silt, hydrogenation, virgin blood, and/or high level doses of travieso radiación can cause the brick matter to blush more and more of a “brick color” as shown here.

Yes, Pepe?

No, TRA-vieso, with a “T”.

Looking to this fine photograph, we see many distinct beds. We have the gravel at the bottom, which of course is what all brick aspires to be, without form or color. It is released from the confines of brickdom and at last can evolve to the higher state of rock…which is concrete! “Blessed o fabricante do misturador!”

Continue reading Fiction Short: Bricks

Fiction Short: Last Tuesday

Last Tuesday the devil bought me a cup of coffee.

I had found myself caught in one of those fierce summer storms that seem to come up out of nowhere and I had taken shelter before it got really bad, “storm” and “bad” being relative terms of course.

I stumbled in right when the hailstones went from bad to apocalyptic…baseball sized, which was doing a number on the cars in the parking lot based on the crash and boom of dented metal, cracking safety glass, and dull roar of car alarms going on as the door closed behind me.

The “please seat yourself” sign was on display at the front by the cash register, so I went ahead and found a booth pointed away from the ebb and flow of the parking lot destruction. A flickering television over the sundae bar was flashing an extreme weather advisory.

Continue reading Fiction Short: Last Tuesday