Creative Writing Commons^™

We Are Not Friends, Fred G. Leebron

English Faculty Publications

There is something about the way the phone rings that lets you know it's Them - a kind of glitter in the chime, a certain je ne sais quoi to the cadence, which seems to skip a beat as if it can't believe that They are calling. You pick up, heart throbbing, getting ready to move your mouth, a sly frisson of sweat striking your palms.

"They asked me to call," Their assistant says. "They want you at the house next Thursday. And then you'll all go somewhere. A plane will be involved. You'll want to bring a passport. Until …

Inky Went Down To The Well, K. S. Phillips

Bryant Literary Review

None of us knew how pure Inky was until we drank her. Sadly, our awareness came three summers too late.

The Last Block Party, Bud Johnson

Bryant Literary Review

The sun is setting over the deserted soccer field near the burial mound.

Across The Line, William Holinger

Bryant Literary Review

The trouble is that the balls go where you throw them.

-- a well-known saying in juggling

Standing in foul territory over by the cornfield, roughing up the game ball,

The Counterpoint Lesson, Lyzette Wanzer

Bryant Literary Review

My father always told me there were two kinds of jazz: white people's jazz, and "the real thing."

Post-Freudian Dreaming, Richard N. Bentley

Bryant Literary Review

I had a dream Tuesday night in which I was either attending a lecture

Abuelita, Camincha

Bryant Literary Review

To Reyna María, it's like they never left. They visit her often, sometimes in groups, sometimes one at a time.

Punching Air, Ben Brooks

Bryant Literary Review

Dead fish floated in close to shore. There were so many of them