By Laura C. Alonso Tomorrow, they’d bury their daughter . . . and still, so many questions. Why would a beautiful fourteen-year-old choose for herself such a horrible, painful death? In life, she appeared the antithesis of suicidal ideation: excellent grades,...
(A memoir in progress) by W. A. Smith Prologue My father died as the sun rose on Easter morning, 1979. Months before, in a halting progression that reminded me of the lights in a house flickering out one by one, room by room, he had lost the ability to move under his...
by Kenneth Cook May 1958 Laura watched the thunderstorm from the living room window. The clouds bloated and darkened, common in the Panhandle in the late afternoons, and then it poured’a gusty, whipsaw wind driving the rain sideways against the house. The rain...
by Gabriella Herkert I learned more from the other writers at the Maui Writers’ Conference than I did from the presenters. True, I paid my conference fee to see the likes of John Saul and Terry Brooks but I learned the most from Janet Spurr. She was behind me in...
by Emily Raboteau Bernie-ism 18.1: It is a privilege to be able to invent oneself. It is also a burden. My big brother Bernard took great pains to learn how to talk Black. Street Black. Prophet Black. Angry Black. Which wasn’t something you heard a lot of where...
by Gabriella Herkert She runs. Out the door, down the stairs and away. Away from the shrilling telephone. Away from them. Haunting her. Hounding her. Tonight, so close. Reaching out with cloying hands to drag her back to the past, to the pain. The rain clatters...
