The Archives
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Micro-Fiction
“The Deserter”
The old men of the village had their eyes firmly focused on politics again. And the economy. And property values. And sports. But not their wives; their wives were safe at home now–safe and unlooked on. The candlelit dinners and music, the awkward dancing and even more awkward reading of poetry had stopped when the young men left. No need for it anymore. Yes, the old leaders of the village no longer had to watch their spouses like hawks–even though they sat at home all day, bored. So, though there was a war going on, the elders were all noticeably calmer than during peacetime and the council meeting had a relaxed air to it. -
Micro-Fiction, Wilson NJ
“Stop The War”
Both the young teenager and the old officer were terribly embarrassed as the Police cruiser careened through some of Wilson’s earliest paved roads. -
Late Night Musings
How To Destroy An American Flag
“We take the stars from Heaven, the red from our mother country, separating it by white stripes, thus showing that we have separated from her, and the white stripes shall go down to posterity representing Liberty.”
–George Washington
“It’s not a dictatorship in Washington, but I tried to make it one…”
–George Bush
Yesterday was Flag Day here in […] -
On Film
Charlie Wilson’s Ghosts
Roughly twenty years ago, the first Soviet tanks crossed their own border into a small “pile of rocks” called Afghanistan. The country’s Communist government, which like most Afghani governments never really controlled anything but the capital, was on the verge of being overthrown; for a country seeped in Islam and tradition Communist reforms to family […]
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Micro-Fiction
“The Arab Killer Breaks Loose”
There was nothing that crazy about the nickname; Americans are a practical, simple, right-to-the-point kind of people: And quite simply, practically, that’s what it was good at. Well, of course, planes are, first and foremost, good at flying, but this one was particularly well suited for killing Arabs. It was untraceable on radar, could effectively dodge either a bullet or a missile–while it’s own projectiles were effectively unstoppable, and so precise that, according to one Army pilot, they could take out a towelhead without disrupting a hair on his goat’s ass (his words, not mine). This was the fear of God, or Allah, or whatever. -
Micro-Fiction
“Ten Bullets Ago”
The tired soldier sat down in the girl’s living room (if that’s what they call it in these parts of the world), she sat across from him, the last member of the **** family, terrified and shaking. She nearly jumped as he removed his helmet. Blood, dirt, and dust were heavily caked on to his […]
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Micro-Fiction
“Stain”
John wore his Father’s camouflage jacket to the meeting. The one with the red stain. It had been a while since he had even looked at it, much less wore it. In elementary school he had proudly explained the truth of the jacket to classmates ‘That’s blood” he would say, pointing to the scarlet mark […]
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Micro-Fiction
“The Native’s Dance.”
The Native’s Dance would end the war. At-least that was what the politicians, generals, and–increasingly–soldiers had come to believe. Jeff’s mission had been as hush-hush as anything out in the desert, but he knew–for a fact– that those two words: Native’s, Dance–had been inserting themselves into no-end of the letters home, usually preceding the part […]
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