literary fiction
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Andrea “Andi” Burns opened her emails and was amazed, maybe shocked, by what she saw. It was a positive response to the job application she had sent months ago to a criminal law firm, located in Richmond, California, about 16 miles from downtown San Francisco.
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Colonel Bridges laid my first brick; he slathered the first layer of mortar. To that mortar he added a strong dose of his spittle. From there I rose over the city of Jackson, absorbing it into myself until I became the city, serving to lift the effluence from the works below into the heavens above.
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In my line of work, you see every kind of person there is. The overly dramatic, who’d jump in after the casket if no one watched them close. The screamers, who wailed and spoke to God as if He were an old drinking mate. The stern-faced uncles and hollow-faced aunts. The confused little kids wondering…
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Her grandmother’s house was not all she imagined it would be. It was more. A duplex adorned with wisteria, and a backyard that boasted a cornucopia of different flowers. She became a butterfly of homosapien descent, and paid visits to the flowers on a daily basis.
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The phone finally rang and I rushed to it. There were sounds of pots and pans banging against each other in the kitchen and the boisterous energy of my family filled the house, but I could still hear my own heart thumping loud, as if it was going to jump out of my chest. The…
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He hated wearing the tux, which hugged him in all the wrong places. He hated her being the star of the evening. He hated her picture on Page Six of The Post, even though his press agent had planted it. He hated the stupid show and certainly wasn’t thrilled watching other men look at what…
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The policeman turns to look at him well. “My friend, we are looking for your kidney and not your money. You didn’t give the man your money. What you gave him is your kidney, and that’s what we need to find. It’s when we find it we can begin to talk about your money. Pray…
