Toby Burnhouser was bigger than Brick, and he held my right arm down. Toby gritted his gums and breathed hard through his nose. He took his job as one of Jimmy’s henchmen a little too seriously. My right hand started to go numb as Burnhouser pushed down harder into the short-pile race-track play carpet.
As a young kid intrigued by spies, guns, and kissing pretty girls, I'd have been happy enough with all of this. But at about two minutes and fourteen seconds in, something dramatic happens.
I'm not much of a poet. When it comes to what I like with respect to poetry, well, I sort of know what I like and what I don't. I can also appreciate that poetry, when it's done well, is... Continue Reading →
Today, you've got avowed, unapologetic racists posing with the president, denigrating previous occupants of the White House.
I got caught up in this trying to do a flash fiction challenge. The challenge was pick a random image and write a 1,000 word story on it in a week. Mine was the castle you see in attached to this entry.
The older one released the cylinder and spun it once. Then he tipped it back, emptying the six chambers of the cylinder. Then he let one shimmering, gold bullet in between his black-dirty thumb and forefinger, and loaded one chamber.
Donald Trump has been in office a couple of weeks, and he is already redefining the words "failure" and "disaster" as they relate to presidential leadership. Honestly, I've never seen anything like it. But I am also a little bit hopeful.
benjamin j kirby 