65 Extracted Words – The Tease – October 2019

 October 2019

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a short fiction piece in progress.

 

The wet trail smells like childhood and the sky is painted dark like death. Between the two, hanging from the horizon, burn the changing leaves of Autumn, and his life. Slog, trudge – pause to glimpse the beautiful, the mysterious – then slog, trudge and carry on once more. The trail seemed to be all that mattered, all that existed, aside from his thoughts … and the fire.

139 Extracted Words – The Tease – September 2019

 September 2019

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from an essay inspired by the lyrics from a seventies release.

The exit sign. Does it read the same from the other side? No, same door, different purpose.

“Could it be that somebody else is
looking into my mind
Some other place. Somewhere. Some other time.”
                                                    Alan Parsons/Eric Woolfson

139 Extracted Words – The Tease – August 2019

 August 2019

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from an essay in progress.

When does the party end? To paraphrase the lyrics of a familiar song, its when the lights get turned (out) off. But is that really true? Some parties are just getting started when the lights go down.

So then, what actually signifies the party’s end?

At a wedding, it might be when the newly married couple exits. At a graduation or birthday, it might be after the presents are opened. When its a wine party and the wine is all gone … well.

To me, what signifies the end of a gathering is when the tables get broken down. Let’s face it, if you stay longer than the furniture, chances are, you’re annoying someone. Perhaps the host, perhaps the people they are paying to break it all down and clean it all up. Either way, take your hint from the folding chairs.

93 Extracted Words – The Tease – July 2019

July 2019

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a novel in progress.

Jessie didn’t even remember when she and Mann came in themselves, but when she returned with their latest round of drinks (which had devolved to the level of vodka sodas) she realized they had been sitting on the sofa long enough for the darkness outside to have completely enveloped the grand, tall windows and their view of the valley. A seam of lightning cleaved the sky.

“Looks like that storm is getting heavier. The boys are in for a rough night. Gals too, hope they keep it wired tight.”

313 Extracted Words – The Tease – June 2019

June 2019

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a novel in progress.

He packed the old Ford with everything he thought he might need, save the items he would toss in right as they left. He planned on getting there early, at first light, if necessary. He already had the place in mind, if it came to it. Hopefully the dumb shit would take his threat as advice and just hit the road, disappear, never return. But before he could even finish the thought, it soured from clarity. “Got damn, Cleopatra, as sure as you’re a Saluki, that kid’s a dumb shit. A neophyte, liberal, socialist dumb ass.” He spit in the pine needles behind the Ford’s toothy rear tires. “And people think he’s some kind of truth teller, but just like the idiots that mistake you for a Doberman, they don’t even know what the truth is.” He spit again, this time brushing at the stubbly skin covering his taught jawbone. “He’s a coyote, a jackal, and you’ve seen how I dispose of them.” He reached behind the dog and rubbed the wooden stock of his thirty-thirty. “Afraid you won’t get to sniff this one’s bones, though. One shot and we’re out of there. Might not even go back to the homestead right away.” The dog whined through her long nose. “Well, I wouldn’t care for that either. I’d surely miss the place as much as you, but we might have to run for a while. Might be a kick in the ass, anyway.” He smiled at the thought of crossing the heartland during the night, listening to emboldened talk show hosts across the land, their voices turning to midnight anthems, crying out with pride about the mysterious patriot in Oregon, and how he acted so boldly, the way we wished our leaders would. A crack of lightning answered from the sky. “Well Miss Cleo, sounds like a storm picking up.”

93 Extracted Words – The Tease – May 2019

May 2019

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a short piece in progress.

Terrell, Ayesha, Sisse´, Cisehal and Michael all sat at the bleached, teak bar. Behind them, the surf crashed softly southward into the faraway. They all sipped lightly from their glasses except Terrell. He was pouring from the Beefeater like a man lost at sea, just trying to get to the bottom so he could put his message in and cork it.

“Why the hurry, sir?” Michael asked.

“No hurry, M,” Terrell answered, between the gold and white teeth of his buccaneer smile. “It’s tasty … but no hurry. Not even with the storm coming.”

434 Extracted Words – The Tease – April 2019

April 2019

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a novel in progress.

He picked at it, looking down and then off at the approaching clouds. “I suppose I owe you guys a better explanation. You’re already guessing anyway. I would. Young guy, clearly messed up. Something pretty shitty must have happened, right?”

“Look kid,” Mann started, “you don’t have to …”

“I think he wants to,” Jessie corrected him.

“I do,” Tumbleweed confirmed her hunch. “Besides, it’s probably better to explain the whole story, rather than have you put in pieces that don’t belong. It might not matter to the dead, but to those of us they leave behind, it should.”

“The dead?” Molly questioned before quickly being hushed by Jessie and Mann.

All three were listening intently, now, with weighted tension, as they anticipated the kid’s disclosure.

“Max, you guessed correctly when you tagged me as a guide. I once was one, a pretty damn good one. For the Rougettes, out of Grants Pass. Problem is, I thought I was even better than I was, better than the river itself. Something happened to change all that. When you picked me up, hitchhiking, over by Grave Creek, I was having a tough time of it.”

“Down on the river?”

“Down on myself, down on life, and had been, for a long time, longer than anyone should be. Drinking into oblivion every night, waking up in strange places, with strange women.”

Jessie and Mollie looked at each other and shrugged. Tumbleweed kept talking, not looking for a reaction, except perhaps, from himself. He was pitched into memory and nothing could pull him back now. It was as if he had dropped an eighty pound pack after a long day on the trail. Suddenly, with virginal clarity, he appreciated the appeal of confession.

“The night before Max stopped to pick me up,” he continued, “I was on a drunk, but the booze ran out. I dried out in the wild, in the dark. Not good. It made for some awful fits in my sleep, horrible dreams. Terrors. Visions. I was pretty confused. The lines between asleep and awake, dream and reality, were all blurred. I woke up in the morning, in the gravel, beside the passer’s cross at Lost Penny. Sometime during the night, I had scratched myself a message in the dirt.”

“A message?” Jessie asked.

“Don’t interrupt,” Molly scolded her. “I don’t think he’s been in this place for a while,” she added, tapping her forehead.

“It’s okay,” Tumbleweed assured her. “I can see it all pretty clear right now. Clearer than I have in quite a while. It wasn’t even a message, really. Just two words …