I was sitting on my concrete walkway, pulling weeds from what you could have called a garden, intermittently looking over at Shelly's house—checking for signs of life.
His feet are large. His hair is hard.
Now they had religion. It was time to buy a house.
Part of our mission was to directly fight insurgents; the other part was to stabilize and protect communities that were being terrorized by small groups of radicalized insurgents.
Al was my new-found brother, filling the sibling gap of an only child. We matched each other in height, though I was always the skinny kid and Al was more round, of face and body, and that never changed.
I was free. Free to stand on my own feet, rise from dirty baptism – a disbeliever no longer.
Straight hair was fun for about two minutes.
Mourning netting, I call it, hiding the dead.
I want to tell you of a house on fire. And, of virga, rain that evaporates before it reaches the ground.***I’m still twenty-three when I get married and move to New Orleans. It’s March of 2007. Sometime around my birthday in June, I realize what I’ve done.***The previous summer, my heart breaks for the first … Continue reading “Crescent City” by Anna Oberg, 2020 Nonfiction Spring/Summer Contest Winner
New York - 2008 I am a liar, and I don’t know how to stop. My friend, José, tells me I need to. He tells me that people need to see our faces. He says that people like us are here at this university, in this English Ph.D. program, because our classmates, our professors and … Continue reading Baby Steps by Kim Vose, 2020 Non-Fiction Winter Contest Winner