Short Stories

What do you do when you don’t know what to do?

Rajeania’s mother Donna hadn’t seen or thought about this neighbor in years, then one day he comes knocking on her door.

Hi everybody…my name is Clarence. Back there is Clyde. Did you ever wonder why we have long necks?

We shared a tiny piece of our stories decades apart, and yet the tricks have not changed their fetishes or desires—same filthy beings. Snippets of our trauma we shared--days upon weeks, months upon years... The realization of identical impurity and fears. These foul, Immoral, corrupt souls.

When I saw the yellow I stopped the car. Fortunately, there was no traffic so I had a talk with Buddy.

Alas, he did not want to be a poet or a mystic; nor a lover, an athlete or a worker/husband/father/corpse.  What Sergei really wanted was world-destruction.

“That’s it for today,” said Axton stopping in the middle of the row. One by one the slaves began to lug their baskets toward the line of carts parked alongside the rows of crops.

In the spirit of this holiday season, I dedicate this column to all of those whose internal struggle persists to balance the notion of the Christmas spirit of giving with that of finding one-self in a sea of sadness.

REMEMBER,GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL. We make a Living by what we get. We make a Life by what we give.

Good day hangovers can come when you least expect them and they make you want to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over your head. The thing is, if you crawl out of the covers, you can very likely find your way out of Groundhog Day.