“I heard that he’s on the run in Connecticut good riddance scum and crackheads like him are a waste of space here, the last thing Vermont needs is another addict.” “You know I heard that the kid on the news, you know the one, his picture was up on Facebook the other day? I heard when they found him he had a needle in between his toes and all the veins in his arm were collapsed. I'm not gonna be surprised when he ODs behind Walmart someday.” “his parents should be ashamed, I w

Human beings are supposedly constantly striving to be reunited with the warmth of their very first conscious bed: their mother’s arms. Having been born into thunder and lightning, I have never known such warmth, and cannot comprehend its loss. My birth was fizzling, veins of light across the darkness, visible through the stretched-thin bandages over my eyes, and pain. To be shocked into the thrust of life is nothing if not pain. Then the feeling of falling, slowly, as the sla

No Way Out The Indian Hill Fire Bear Lake, South Dakota June 5th, 1986 Bull Dreger, crew superintendent for the Bear Lake Hotshots, looked around, tranquilly and contentedly at the view before him, taking in the glorious sights of the Mount Boaz National forest. His fireman’s pack weighed heavy on his broad shoulders and his fair, sun-beaten face continued to scout out the horizon. After hours and hours of cutting brush and digging up the firebreak lines with the help of the

I don’t fuck with that shit anymore. Grimy ass human waste, waste away like some kind of drug ending in -dine that You prescribed to my schizophrenic aesthetic. You said it was good, tasted like cotton candy and rainbows. The only bow strung here was my veins, played me like a harp and watched my swan song with cold water embracing me all the way to the hospital where You work at. Not worked. Emergency, emergency, my heart stopped and the paddles of life don’t bring me any cl

Born of The Broth we string our noodle-nooses tightly round the chunks of meat we call necks. The heretics reward, the underserved good of the soul for those that are gallows-bound. The bottom of the bowl awaits them as the spoons drop. One swift clink in sync with the snapping. Mm, mm, good. The Broth knows all. It’s holy yellow texture so rich and flavored, that even those hanging can’t help but pay tribute as a similar substance rushes down their hanging legs. They hope to

You have to understand… I never intended for us to fall so low. But I cannot put the blame on anyone else but myself. Fate didn’t twist its strings and gods didn’t play their dice; it was simply what is called a mistake... something I haven’t come across in countless years. My dear, I am afraid. I am beyond terrified of not knowing our fate, and I know you are too. We can’t escape the grasp of darkness and pretend that everything will be alright when my mistake is right in fr

It was the first day of the fall semester and as I walked into the classroom, fifteen pairs of eyes swung in my direction. A few students started whispering to each other as they continued to sneak looks at me. At the age of 77, I was returning to college, perhaps to work toward a degree, mostly to fill empty time in my retirement. I had always enjoyed being a student and lately an interest in creative writing had inched its way into my mind. Without second guessing my intent

You sit there and stare blankly at the shadow figures dancing the waltz in your room. Slouched against your bedroom wall, you don’t bury behind the blankets and pillows that surround you, instead you compress your breath to shield away any form of noise that might distract them. You listen closely for hints of the song they are dancing to; what magical song has brought them into your room, into your consciousness, into life although there are no heartbeats, no vibrating sound

I’m wearing the deodorant I bought sometime during my freshman year of college. The Dove brand one marked “original” scent. Whatever that means. It smells a little like soap, and also like flowers. Usually I go for powder scented, and I assumed “original” would be the same, but it wasn’t. And I bought it as a two pack, which meant I still had this stick of deodorant in my house after almost two years. I couldn’t just throw it away because there wasn’t anything wrong with it.

“I just don’t want to spend all my time thinking about it, you know? Like maybe that’s shitty. But life goes on. It’s different now, obviously, I get that. But I have to take care of me at some point, right? Is that wrong?” We’re sitting in Allyson’s car, parked in front of the corn field up on East Hill. The headlights shine on the stocks, piercing through the first couple rows before getting lost in the jumble of yellow and green. The leaves sway in the breeze, knocking int