Heavy cardboard, lacquered and reinforced with canvas, the guitar case felt bumpy when he dragged his fingers slowly across its surface. Each bump a variation, a distinction among the whole. Sharper sensed when his finger tips were held severely as daggers, pressing, warping the case.
He relaxed his hand, eased the pressure, dragged his hand quickly back across the surface. The texture changed, smooth and placid. Firm and yet serene. Continue reading Woody’s Machine
Everything had fallen apart for Sergo. Bloody Sunday felt like yesterday to him. He shook his head. Four years had passed, and what had been accomplished? His dreams of building his factory drifted away like gun smoke.
Nothing was left, but the endless bickering. He was now certain that the party existed merely for its own division into countless factions. At some point, each of them would be arguing with themselves, each man forming and joining several of his own imaginary revolutionary factions. It was hopeless, madness. Marx talked of people coming together, not taking turns stabbing each other in the back. Continue reading Kirillov
The cellar was dark and cold. In the summer. Whenever mother asked my sister to go to the cellar to get something, she’d come looking for me. It might have taken her five minutes to fetch a Mason jar of pickles, but she’d rather spend twenty hunting around the house, the yard, the barn for me. The cellar was my birthright. My special place in our family. Continue reading Flurries
Perhaps I am a coward after all. I stop. Bent over and pushing the rifle against my thighs just above my knees, I heave great breaths of air into my lungs and force them back out. My side stitch has returned, like a hot knife, lancing me through the side. The agony is excruciating. It is some measure of what I deserve, I think. Continue reading Where Trees Meet Sky
“My daughter thinks I spend too much time with you, did you know that?” asked the old man.
The bird tilted its head. Blinked its eyes. Said nothing.
“What does she know anyway?” He slid his gnarled feet in his shoes. “She spends all her time at that job at the bank.” Continue reading A Man and His Bird