Fiction Writers' Platform

A Small Request on a Cold Day in Hell

Dear Sir, I’d be much obliged if you could see it in your heart to let it rain if only on the garden. I’ve never asked for a favor and I believe your records will show that.

With the stub of a carpenter’s pencil he’d sharpened for

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The Body in the Bulrushes

Starting when I was a young man, I fly fished a small pond each summer high in the mountains. I can’t remember how I discovered the place but it lay hidden in a canyon fed from summer runoffs and was full of German Browns. A steep climb and

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