His wife sat next to him on the porch. Out of the corner of her sight she watched him breathe like a man in the middle of a heavy labour. She’d see him stand up and look down the road and say ‘Alright boys, time to go.’ every time he heard an engine, or what
Monthly Archives: June 2009
“You haven’t lived until you’ve been to a Piggly Wiggly. And that’s all I have to say about that!” ——- On the night Cosby Puckett was murdered most of the town – and all of the Bean Boarding House – were bunched up in a brush arbor down by the river waiting for Brother Ernst
This short has been getting a lot of play time around the house lately – since my sister-in-law urged every one to “Vote for Maybe One Day by Chris Cottam” because “It’s great. And he is my lovely friend.” Well, we did. And, it is. Beautiful. Really. Everything from the lighting to the writing. Especially
All things fade and quickly turn to myth; quickly too utter oblivion drowns them. But what in any case is everlasting memory? Utter emptiness.
He died. Five years ago. I still can’t say his name, or hear it said, without losing my breath. Without feeling like someone has set their lips to mine and sucked all the air from me. Forcibly. It hurts. A real physical pain. And reminds me, every time, of Giles Corey. Crushed to death. Beneath
