Stories and Paintings
Gordon Percival Fletcher folded his hands upon the thick, worn book in his lap and sighed. He looked around the empty room at the back of the library. Three empty chairs in a semicircle in front of him. Three was optimistic. There was a time when he needed to set out as many as... Continue Reading →
The sky is blue today. Leafy trees, just taller than myself, line the path. Eight months of the year they are bare, arching over like claws. Now they are lush and green. One month a year they flower. Now they are in full bloom. Wide, open stars of deep red. Around me, men are either... Continue Reading →
His footsteps swish-swish over the concrete in an odd rhythm. A broken hip that never fully healed. He can barely lift his feet, yet we keep the shackles on his ankles. We have to. Those are the rules. We can’t allow any chance of escape. Or any morsel of dignity. His lame shuffle slows us.... Continue Reading →
It seems communism is much like Samson from the bible—it killed a lot of people and left those it spared with a deep distrust and resentment toward it. My friend Neil is also like Samson, in that he has long hair and lives with his parents. But no one has written a book about Neil... Continue Reading →
