I was an optimist. I thought that I, like Hemingway, could weave my influence between countries, live in the welcoming limbo between a government I believed in and one that spoke my language. I stopped trying to return to the United States thirty years ago. I am an airplane steward now. Sometimes I write in imperfect Spanish for a newspaper named after a boat named after a nameless elderly woman half a century dead. I believe every word I write. I am happy.
But the days I spent in the narrow land come back to me every day. They knew...
Standing on the ledge, it seemed so surreal to him. It was like an out of body experience. He couldn't remember deciding to go to the roof. He certainly didn't remember deciding to do what he was about to do. It was almost humorous how much it felt like an out of body experience, almost. He looked down at his clothes and thought of all the different things he could have worn for this. It's odd the details that come into your mind in times of crisis and stress. I guess the devil really is in the details. He was...
He heard two doors smash and with a loud screech and a blinding beam of light, the door to the back opened. He expected the three masked men to open, but found a woman instead. "Is your name Martin?" "Who are you?", he asked. "I'm no one, until you tell me your name." His eyes almost fully adapted to the brightness and he could now see her clearly. She was wearing all black, except for a jeans jacket. She seemed to shiver in the cold, and he couldn't help but notice, that she's kind of cute.
"Following up from the fight we had last night Darren"
"I don't wanna talk about it Judy"
I can see the fear in Darren's eyes, i know he wants to tell me something, I just don't know what. His hands are trembling, while peeling the potatoes preparing for dinner. The look on his face is getting worrying. He suddenly falls to the floor, the peeler is down there with him. What did he do? What did I do? 911. PLease..
If given enough time to think of it he would go back into the fire to get it. The moment the Christmas gift was opened, he got up and filled the cup with coffee. Ever since then and with few exceptions it had been used most every day. It was white with Disney's Magic Kingdom logo on it just over the letters D-A-D also in blue. This wasn't his style or desire, but yet this was. He knew the minute he picked it up who the previous owner was, and it was a connection that he would never make in...
He didn't think he was much of a cat person until he met Matilda.
It was a long, lazy summer afternoon in the local park. She was swinging gently on one of the children's swings, fingers interwoven with the metal chains, face turned up to the sun. He didn't notice her at first, lying stomach-down on the grass with his nose buried in a book. But his attention wandered briefly from the page and came to rest upon her slim figure and there was something about her that captured his attention.
She was oblivious. She arched her back, stretched her...
They were listening. Their ears pressed up against the wall. She held her breath, the clock ticked. Her boyfriend huffed and rolled his eyes. She glared at him and held a finger to her mouth. He was about to speak when it started again.
The yelling, this time it was followed by a crash. Then the low voices. It was odd, it wasn't the usual commotion they heard from the neighbors. The man's voice was urgent, the woman's angry.
Straining, she shifted her weight so she could better press her ear against the wall and when that didn't work she...
In memory of Sanvee Ali, age 5.
He will be remembered in our home and in our hearts.
I had been running for just over an hour, almost breathless. Whose idea was it to train for this marathon anyways? I've always liked running, but never really enjoyed it, you know? There are only so many routes you can take. This time, I decided to say screw the concrete jungle, I'm going to take this somewhere different. So I took to the hills, as they say. Not gonna lie, it was much more interesting than running on pavement. The damp grass under my shoes, the crunching of the twigs, all that good stuff. I stopped at the top of...
Leonard stumbled back. He almost fell. His heart raced and sweat stuck his shirt to his belly and back and armpits. He'd had patients worse off than Bea, patients with bloody ends, with pointless existances, tortured creatures that lived and died hooked to electricity and strapped to beds. None with the relative safety and comforts that he'd been treating Bea in, the comfort of home.
This was a scheduled meeting in the garden, she'd come from the trees, barefoot, bare arms, makeup garishly applied and with the gauzy veil over her face. His boy would laugh, he imagined, would point...