Posted on by Dave Woodruff
Marvin Dellcomp wasn't the toughest kid. In fact, he wasn’t tough at all. In fourth grade the other kids called him wussy. By fifth grade they called him pussy. Now in sixth grade he’d been promoted to puss cakes. At this rate, his status and social position was doomed by the time he reached high school.
Read MorePosted on by Dave Woodruff
You were on your way home when you died.
It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.
Read MorePosted on by Dave Woodruff
Most people would be happy having a photographic memory. Unfortunately in his case it meant he could remember nothing else but photos. For years it confounded every doctor, it baffled psychologists and therapists.
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It’s a bright room. Lazy clouds creep through the frames of my windows. Birds chirp excitedly, they have a nest nearby. And daylight spills mercilessly into every crevice of this old house, ripping away night’s veil from each crack, flake, and speck. The room has all the crisp colors of a Dutch painting, and it shocks my senses like the spray of gunfire.
Read MorePosted on by Dave Woodruff
The news came light a bolt of lightning, she wasn’t ready for it, but who ever is? It took her long enough to get over no news. Until now, she told herself, the news that truly shocked, was the empty page, but this had a real grip of truth and painful existence.
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