• Flash Fiction,  Human Condition,  Literary

    Hidden Treasure

    He left in the cover of darkness. He lifted the palm leaves that concealed the boat he learned to build from an outlawed book. He prayed it would be seaworthy. A branch cracked in the near distance. He watched. He waited. Sweat dripped down his back. With his hat, a small pack of food, and water placed gently in the boat, he eased it into the sea. If he were caught now, he’d get at least 5 years in the pit.  Please float, he whispered into the night as he pushed off from the sandy safety of the beach. He sat. He watched. He waited.  His oar sloshed water, his…

  • Flash Fiction,  Human Condition

    Fred

    The only thing that glittered more than the road were the tears on Laura’s cheeks, sparkling ethereal in the moonlight on a midnight drive to nowhere. She blinked hard. The visibility out here was shit and the cut above her left eye was bleeding again. Her headlights cut through the gloom the way a flashlight cuts through murky water, which was to say, not well at all. Her engine roared. The windshield wipers on their fastest setting couldn’t clear her view. She willed herself to slow down, but couldn’t. He’d catch up to her. She glanced away from the road for a moment to check her rear-view mirror. No headlights.…

  • Flash Fiction,  Human Condition

    The Window

    My mom told me he’d kill me if I didn’t leave him. That was 3 years ago and the last time we spoke. She doesn’t understand. He loves me.  I press my fingertips against the black plastic to feel the cold glass of the window. I watch the street below through a small slit. Freezing, my feet are tucked up in the moth-eaten blankets of a familiar room. My room. I listen for the lock on the door or footsteps in the hall. He doesn’t like it when I watch.  The woman in a white nightgown standing on the street looks a lot like me. I see the swollen belly…

  • Human Condition,  Memoir

    My Relationship With Depression and Creativity

    I have PTSD and major depressive disorder. Whether the former is responsible for the latter I may never know, because depression also runs in my family, and so it might have become a passenger in my life even if I hadn’t experienced trauma. When I’m depressed, I stop creating, but it wasn’t always that way. As I’ve gotten older it’s become difficult to meld these two parts of my personality together, when they used to go hand in hand. It’s like they had a big fight and now only visit one at a time. I think it’s important, before you read any further, to establish what depression is. Because of…

  • photo by Andreea Popah on Unsplash
    Human Condition,  Literary

    The Waiting Room

    Life is a waiting room. We wait. We wait in line. We wait in cars and on buses and planes. We wait for phone calls and mail deliveries. We wait for appointments, promotions, birthdays and anniversaries. We wait for holidays and the passing from one year to the next. We wait for life. We wait for love. We wait for death. An endless expanse of chairs draped in matching blue fabric that doesn’t quite distract you from the dated magazines meant to hold your attention until your name is called. Such is life, with our minds holding hands with smartphones and TV screens to avoid real human touch, or a…

  • Human Condition

    Living in the Age of Distractions

    We live in a fascinating era. We’re in the age of intangibility, of information, of personal branding. We have apps for everything: finance, social media, productivity, meditation, and travel. We even have apps that are supposed to help us have fewer distractions from other apps. The times they are a changin’. Every generation has a big struggle. The great wars became the struggle of many generations all over the world: they toiled and scraped together what was left of a bombed out and hurting nation. Here in North America, us Generation X and Y people, we have no great war. Our great struggle is one taking place in our minds.…