by Donald Carreira Ching
I used to count the cars like the next one would be the last one, but there’s
really no point. There’s always another one abandoned on Dump Road, on the side of the highway near the military base, or at the beach park. If I troll along Kamehameha Highway near the pier, I’ll usually find at least one just before the road curves toward the waterfront homes that look out onto the sandbar, Ahu O Laka. Continue reading
by Sati Benes Chock
She kept the T.V.
At first Jane thought that it wouldn’t be right, even though, if pressed, she didn’t feel that it was exactly wrong, either. But still. He had a wife. This hadn’t stopped her from having dinner with him, after she’d tutored his children for ten dollars an hour at his immaculate 1950s-style ranch house. The only thing out of place was a crumpled handmade quilt on the leather couch in the den. “That’s where Daddy sleeps,” whispered his son, Nate, a shy eleven-year old with spiky red hair and thick black glasses. A thrill shot through Jane, even as she pretended nonchalance. His older sister, Amanda, peered around the corner and frowned. “What are you doing in there?” she asked. It was as if she knew Jane was snooping. Continue reading
by Roger Real Drouin
Up here on big flat there’s only the low, constant hum of the compressors. And the wind rough against the truck, whipping against the rig. Oscar sips the last of the coffee from the thermos, and he thinks of his girls, warm inside far away, sound asleep.
He listens for the wolf, listens past the hemlock and cedar, but there is only the wind. Continue reading