Tag Archives: Friday Fictioneers

Here’s how it happened: I was on the ladder fixing a gutter when the wind gusted and I ended up standing at the edge of an old canal, and this boat glides up all weathergray and brown, riding high, filled … Continue reading →

I saw her gazing at the road sign. “Not from here?” I asked. “Nope.  Landed in O’Hare an hour ago,” she said.  “Headed to Cali.” “So you’re got a layover and figured you’d get your kicks?” “No,” she said.  “I’m … Continue reading →

“Why’d you give me this name, anyway?” asked Last Snow. “Your mother and I called you that because we brought you home in a snowstorm,” her father said.  “We figured it was the last one we’d ever see, and we … Continue reading →

“We coulda jumped him somewhere else,” the man said. “Not right here in broad daylight.” “Shut up and help me prop his bike up,” his partner said. “Lay him out next to it. Make it look like he’s napping.” “Yeah, … Continue reading →

They say the sound’s like a freight train but all I could hear was the house cracking apart, sticks and stones whickering by like shrapnel.  I remember seeing my neighbor’s truck whirling up into the air like a skater doing … Continue reading →

The old man reached into his backpack. “See these?” he said, holding up a fistful of spikes.  “Caltrops.  They stop road equipment in its tracks.” His daughter looked at him.  “Can we go soon?” “Yes,” he said. He walked out … Continue reading →