Was “The Survivor” Going Crazy?
From my soon-to-be-published Short Stories for the Soul: “The Survivor” I glance down as the speedometer’s passing 90. No helmet, of course. The sun’s setting under a blushing sky, succumbing to darkness. Dark is good, closer to oblivion than light. Leather-gloved hold on my Ninja 650, engine fever pitched. Hunched behind the windscreen, wind thundering over my head, I’m riding a rocket. A long, straight stretch, and I surge to 120, 130. Adrenaline pumping. A car in front of me. I pass it as if it’s standing still—and the whoosh makes life feel almost worthwhile. But I’ll always have to…
Where Does “Journey to the Edge” Really Go?
From my soon-to-be-released Short Stories for the Soul: “Journey to the Edge” Suited up, helmets on, inside the spacecraft Wilson and Clark climbed into their seats. Switches, dials, and levers filled every inch of the surrounding control panels. Gauges and monitors glowed in green and amber, a soft visual buffer to the darkness outside. Wilson glanced at the small mirror he’d glued—against regulations—to the console. No sandy brown hair and gray-blue eyes looking back, just the white sphere of his helmet and the face shield that looked like the giant eye of a bug. A bug in outer space. Just…
What Was “The Wonder of Og?”
From my soon-to-be-released Short Stories for the Soul: “The Wonder of Og” Og traced his fingers across the images of sun and moon he had scratched on his cave wall. His father had taught him to bow down to the sun each morning and the moon each night. They ruled the sky, and every day and night they crossed from one end to the other. Bowing to them made sense, even if they sometimes hid behind the white fields that floated in the sky. Yet Og could not stop wondering if there might be something beyond the sun and…
Who Is this “Bronze Man”?
From my soon-to-be-released Short Stories for the Soul: “Bronze Man” In late afternoon I met a woman in a park. She sat in a circle of elementary school kids, doing crafts with Popsicle sticks and telling stories about what’s important in life. I paused to watch, and she called me over to help. She said I looked as if I needed to join in as much as the kids. Not sure how or why to say no, I sat down with them. I listened and helped. I asked her why she did this, and she said, “It’s an expression of…
What Was Wrong with “Anna’s Treasures”?
From my soon-to-be-released Short Stories for the Soul: “Anna’s Treasures” Seattle 1954 Anna Petrovna died in springtime. She had always wanted to die in winter because that’s when everything slept. Death was natural, and properly done, in winter. But the cancer metastasized like a trespasser over the borders of her wishes and took her three seasons early. This upset her. Sergei clutched her diary as he gazed at the old lithographic photo in the gray light that filtered through the rain-streaked window. By the date on the back, she would have been in her forties, and every inch of her…
