by Shannon L. Bowring
No one’s asking what I think about the tree.
“Tear it out,” says my father.
“If you had it your way,” my mother sighs, “the entire lawn would be a golf course.”
“If you try to tear it down,” my Sister the Activist proclaims, “I’ll live in it. You aren’t so heartless that you’d bulldoze a tree your own daughter was living in, would you?”
“Lawn guy’s coming Saturday. The tree goes.” Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
by Shannon L. Bowring
He searches for her along roads that look like scars winding their way through barren landscapes. He shows her picture to dozens of tired waitresses, indifferent tourists, cynical cops who all see the hopeless face of a long-lost memory in the faded Polaroid the man waves at them. “See that mark there, under her right eye? That’s from where she fell off her bike when she was seven. Are you sure you haven’t seen her around here?”
His story is too familiar. He is searching for another lost soul. In a roadside café in Texas, an old man with thick black hair and wind-roughened skin advises him to ease up on the search. “Ain’t gonna find her, son. We’ve all lost girls like that, some time or another. Best just let her go, boy. Get to movin’ on.” Continue reading
Filed under Fiction
Hawaii Pacific Review 