I’ve sang this ancient song in moments my mouth started singing on its own, and I listened with interest to learn what would come out of it.
When I tell him autumn tastes like apples, he brings me a bright red delicious the next day, pressing it into my hand without a word.
Shanika had known him since she was 12. She always thought that she hated him.
A familiar face entered the bus, bending like a willow tree reaching for water. Reaching into his boot, he pulled out a wad of bills, slipping a $20.00 into the fare machine. “Gimme a day pass and keep the change.”
I just saw Dr. Mason. Now I know. It’s all happening too fast. Just two weeks ago, I finished training for our town’s Volunteer Fire Department. That’s when we got a call. My first. A house on fire. Neighbors said there were still people in there. We went in as best we could through the […]
I take Mother’s picture to the dinner table every night. She smiles, still happy. I speak of my sister Nancy and Dad. Nancy’s writing. My mastering a Tchaikovsky waltz.
The chicory kid If it would get your attention, I could tell you that the boy in question wore colors and spoke street English. His death, while tragic, is part of the American argot, just the latest Indian who has duly given up his land. Deep in our psyche is a man who settles disputes […]
Paul wasn’t sure he could eat the hand of a fellow human being, but he was dying…. He took out the pocket knife with frost bitten fingers. Opened it. Held her hand a long time. Her flesh was pale. The painted fingernails looked like bloody claws. He shuddered. He definitely would avoid the fingernails. Still […]
Martin’s driving fast and reckless. A bottle in his hand. His teeth clenched in an angry snarl. It started this morning. Late for work at the telemarketing company where his sales are down. His boss came in and fired him.
Jonathan Douglas Dowdle was born in Nashua, NH and has traveled throughout the US, he currently resides in South Carolina. Previous works have appeared or are appearing in