The flow of the river is ceaseless,
Its waters never the same.
That is, the only constant is change.
All posts in Short Stories
An Apocalypse, and Goats
An Angels Effigy
Nothing had burned in quite some time. So, the Volunteer Fire Department stood empty, fallow. I played in its shadow, which wavered in the heat. It hadn’t rained in weeks.
The building dominated the hill upon which it sat, like a castle. It towered over the entire neighborhood, and I was its ruler. I clung to the rusty railings on its sides, the ones that reached to the top of its bell tower, its turret. I gave speeches there to all my subjects. Dim light from the building’s dusty windows inspired wonder in me. What went on behind them? The firemen put piles of burned wood behind the station, and I would spend lazy afternoons watching ants eat it.
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The Grand Mother
A storm began, and blew over as quickly as it had come. It was one of those summer storms that cleans the streets and washes the stink from everything. The kind that cools off fourteenth story apartments close to the roof, where heat conducts itself into a tangible part of the human business.
Since the storm, there was room for other things. Amelia decided to pay a visit to The Grand Mother, who lived in the apartment across the hall. The kind old woman had more than earned her nickname. In return for her kindness, Amelia took it upon herself to check in on Grand Mother from time to time. Did she need anything? Did the grocery boy try to cheat her again? Had maintenance come to repair the air conditioning? Amelia knocked on Grand Mother’s door, even though she knew it wasn’t locked. It never was.
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