Anyway, it’s not like I’ve never gotten a parcel before, it’s just that this is the type where you keep going back to the mailbox to see if it’s arrived. Like, every day. “Roland, shit. Stop with the mailbox and read this paper with me.” Uncle splays his legs on the step so…
Here, Grandma. Play your banjo. “No way, child. There’s witches on the briar And a cod on the fridge. They’re out back brewing Syrup thick as pigs.” Here, Grandma. Let me stop the wagon “There’s the house. Inside I go. Oh! Cousin Jimmy! Why you naked like that?” “Cheers, Mabel.…
Marg dances. Old sagging bones shudder, rags as well. I opened my door for this? I invite her in, but she pulls me outside. I don’t want to go to her apartment, but that’s where we are. Marg is a hoarder. Every part of the apartment is full. We travel the maze,…
In a field full of garbage, when you stoop to retrieve an aluminum can with your lips, you taste a little of what once was in there. What you taste is not what you buy, though. For EEEE, the field is behind him, but he remembers. He remembers makeshift boots made of…
The sack of mangosteen falls to the ground and a fruit rolls out. Farel slams it with a rock and scoops out the rind, more sweet than oranges. Sweating on the ground, under the shade of trees in the noontime sun. Evergreens bend with more fruit. Next to him, a broad leaf. He moves it…
Hey all, Hope you’re all doing well. Just wanted to link to this blog, the Independent Writers Podcast: https://theindependentwriterspodcast.wordpress.com/2018/02/19/episode-1/ On the first episode, there’s a link to a podcast of a story I wrote a long time ago called “Pickle” (https://trentlewin.com/2016/03/29/pickle/). It’s crazy when someone else reads your story out loud, it’s like a different…
At 3 am in the morning, there is a knock on Benny’s door. It interrupts a dream of silk mountains, and he sliding down them on a plastic food tray. He’s snacking on a cucumber. He wakes up. “I hate cucumber!” He peers through the eye-hole, and opens the door. On the…
