Marcus Quercus_Angel Umbrellas_The mistake that didn't matter in the end_Rocky Mountain Low
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Marcus Quercus
My name is Marcus, and I’m mad. I’m sitting in the Principal’s office, and it’s my Mom’s fault. George and Arnie are bullies. They didn’t get in trouble for pulling my shirt out of my pants on the bus and calling me “stinky pinky.” They always do that when I wear this shirt. I hate this shirt. Mom says it’s peach. It’s not. It’s pink. I’m tired of George making fun of me. So today I had some acorns from my tree in my pocket, and when we were getting off the bus, I threw one right at Gwww.onedoor.cceorge’s head. I got him right behind his ear, and he started crying like a baby. But the vice principa...
Angel Umbrellas
I think about the Carters every day, but most of all on Saturdays. Those are the only days when the boy with giant glasses doesn’t careen past on his bike, laden with numerous copies of the Sherman County Journal and struggling to stay upright. Mr. Carter used to read that paper every weeknight while Mrs. Carter prepared dinner, and every Sunday morning while she scrambled eggs. Sometimes Mr. Carter would mutter about “that stupid goddamned war” or “that good-for-nothing Johnson,” but mostly he kept his opinions to himself. I think he just wanted to learn what he could about Timmy, and the pap...
The mistake that didn't matter in the end
THE MISTAKE THAT DIDN’T MATTER IN THE END “Look Rachel. It happened. It was a bit of fun and a good release for us after clinching that deal. End of story. It happens all the time. People have too much to drink and make mistakes. Just keep it to yourself and it will be alright. I promise you. Don’t make it more difficult than it should be. No one needs to know but us and I won’t be telling anyone. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. He lay back on the bed, perfect smoke rings gently floating up to the ceiling and he felt relaxed. Turning his phone off, he stubbed out his cigarette, shut his eyes ...
Rocky Mountain Low
Rocky Mountain LowByEldridge StimmelPain screamed through my muscles with every step and sang its way through my leg bones like vibrations through the finest crystal. If they shattered, like I felt they must, it meant death. A slow, uncomfortable passing from this land of stark beauty to the next.I’d only meant to spend a few hours on this mountain trail, circling the shallow bowl below me, and building an appetite only the outdoors could foster.The clear skies and warm afternoon sun lulled me into wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a T-shirt. I carried a heavy, rubberized poncho in case of the...