Onan sees himself as a child, playing with his truck in the red clay of the hill. He sees Rochelle. He sees little Rochelles. He sees a little boy who looks exactly like him, playing with trucks in a sandlot, about to make the same mistake he did.
Tag: short story
Frank McGhee (aka Stumpy)
Harshbarger Mills, #4 I grew up in West Virginia, and it’s my belief that our small towns, hollers, and “wide spots in the road” contain more characters… Read more “Frank McGhee (aka Stumpy)”
When I write What I write . . .
Bean juice affected the great-aunts like distillery fumes.
Long Distance, a short story by Joan Spilman
We were a couple. Nobody on the floor but us. This went on for, oh, I don’t know how long. He even begged me to go away with him.