Alaska, he said, counting out the money. His children were tired, but Dad was so happy they believed one more time.
Derek Dexheimer (@dex3703) gives his report at dex3703.wordpress.com. He is working on a novel.
She flipped through her kid sister’s diary, all stories of kittens and boys. Nothing about an older sister. She wondered who she was.
Derek Dexheimer (@dex3703) gives his report at dex3703.wordpress.com. He is working on a novel.
He worked up to ten mile runs. A tiny boy asked: what are you running from? It’s not like that, he said, but couldn’t silence the question.
Derek Dexheimer (@dex3703) gives his report at dex3703.wordpress.com. He is working on a novel.
When the end of the world came it was not at all like they said. There was a bright light, yes. But then there was you.
Derek Dexheimer (@dex3703) gives his report at dex3703.wordpress.com. He is working on a novel.
The Devil moves in next door. He asks to borrow a cup of sugar. What’s the catch? He looks sad. I’m the one asking, he says.
Every morning the Devil sweeps his sidewalk. He holds excellent backyard barbecues, returns balls and frisbees. Everyone still avoids him.
The Devil likes my evening company, offers me exquisite brandy on his porch. He smiles at the stars. You don’t know what you have, he says.
Months pass. The Devil as neighbor becomes normal. One summer dusk I ask if we are friends, and he looks long into the distance.
Spring comes and we enjoy its evening. I ask the Devil if the past was better. The stars emerge. I wish I could forget like you do, he says.
One summer morning, the Devil’s house is empty, sidewalk unswept. I think of sugar and try to smile at the morning star.
Derek Dexheimer feels much better. He provides a daily story @dex3703 and blogs about the strange wonder of being alive.
Out in the fields, the old bosses dug bare-handed. Their young watchers didn’t understand their crimes and gave them water and chocolate.
Derek Dexheimer (@dex3703) gives his report at dex3703.wordpress.com. He is working on a novel.
Every day like every other, he built the machine. The machine grew so large it could never work, and he stopped, satisfied.
Derek Dexheimer has a writing and photography blog.
Wind blew the balloon from his hands, and the little boy liked that it was free to play.
Sometimes, his father said, it’s okay to feel sad.
Derek Dexheimer has a writing and photography blog.
I met a girl today, on the bus, waiting for another bus, but on this one. We talked, but she ran out of English, and we were quiet then.
Derek Dexheimer faces challenges.
She curled tighter on the floor holding the school picture, the only one she had.
Derek Dexheimer is making progress.