Fiction
When I started this final exam reflection/exit essay (which I wonder if you’re even reading) I dialed up the Brahms Alto Rhapsody you played early this semester which you said was so beautiful it made some suicidal writer change his mind, so I gav
Hers is the last vehicle in the funeral home parking lot. Carol makes sure of that before she straps the brass urn with her husband’s ashes into the passenger seat of their pickup truck and sets off for their summer house on Lake Superior.
Willie swung his hammer and missed, smacking his thumb. He mashed his lips together, trying not to swear. He considered the monastery on the hill, and the serenity of the valley where he knelt on top of a storage shed.
When fire began to fall from the sky and the stars started going out one by one, Burnhardt’s car was in the shop for new brake pads, or maybe the muffler—he’d been through a lot of cars and it was hard to keep track sometimes...
Dad and I had each of us shot a buck and back at the truck we shared with quiet abandonment how it all had gone down. We were leaning against my grandpa’s Ford. Grandpa came up and congratulated me.
Jelis stopped digging. She shrugged her harness off, letting the old-fashioned Exo-Shoveller drop to the ground. Who cares, anyway. It was obsolete. It only moved up and down, and then only a maximum of fifteen inches.
Before I step through the doors of the cigar factory, I smell the aroma that has followed my sister, Rosario, home since she started working here.
Eva would tell her father about the proposal herself.
The woman stands in a yellow sundress and sandals, snow circling her blue ankles. It’s January in Milwaukee, and she’s out on the street half-naked.
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