The older bald man sits in a light-rose wingback chair. What look like two security guards stand behind him, motionless. They haven't taken off their sunglasses yet. It doesn't look like they're going to.
About twenty-five years ago, my parents bought several acres near the edge of Pulaski County, Arkansas, a forty-five minute drive from downtown Little Rock. The property is beautiful, most of it wooded behind a small pond where my parents have... Continue Reading →
Sitting in the seat of the big Cadillac, he clicked the freshly loaded clip back into the Beretta and checked the safety, slid it comfortably back into the holster, like a hand going into a waiting pocket. He was glad the running was over, glad that he would be able to ask for the bonus without any guilt this time.
A big part of having the kids around is feeding them. Most nights I try to cook healthy meals for them, complete with vegetables and fresh fruit. Sometimes I hit a home run -- pasta is usually a winner, tacos always work, chicken and veggies. Sometimes it's a miss. I made a great black bean soup the other night, and the kids just weren't down with it.
They hit the switch, there was an electric crackle, and all I could see was hazy white out the window. I felt myself drifting, and then I saw nothing but blue. No other colors, not even close.
He had found it almost by accident, the strange stone monkey, an artifact worth a lot to an old guy in Chicago. Three days later he was on a cot in a hut in Fortaleza in the depths of something a lot like malaria. It was the monkey – the Gypsy Monkey, they called it – and it spoke to him in his twisted dreams. Make your choice, make your sacrifice.
benjamin j kirby 