20 Minute Fiction
Short writing (and some longer things too)
Billy and Jim and You and Me
I’ve been asked on occasion who Billy and Jim are. It’s clear to most that there are elements of myself in both characters, but in my own mind, I am Billy. I’ve always been Billy. Who Jim is remains a mystery to me. I’ve written for years about the both of them, using their beings…
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The Winds Whispering Among the Trees
“Fucking winter.” Billy spat. “Fuck you.” With every footfall his boots slipped in the snow. He was walking up the hill behind the house with the snow falling even now in the late days of February. “Fuck you.” Billy said to himself. “I hate you,” he said to himself. He stopped to catch his breath.…
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Three Days Past Full
The moon was three days past full, and Billy used its light in the darkness of the night to navigate to the wood pile in the snow. The snow was fresh but wet, and under the great pine trees it had frozen a thin crust which Billy broke through with his boots, down the hill…
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Against the Dimly Lit Sky
In the night Billy laid on the couch in front of the big bay windows looking out over the valley. A layer of cloud hemmed in the world, cutting off the tops of the mountains and muting the moon that was a few nights past being full. But the moon still lit the earth, it…
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A Thing on the Dirt
When Billy came upon William he was just a thing on the dirt. He laid there in a ball with his knees drawn to his chest and his left arm around his shins and then his right arm under his head, a very soft cradle. He could have been many things lying there; a rock,…
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Autumn, deep into it
Autumn, and deep into it. Glowing leaves in an absence of light, yellows to envy and a green so lime and bright, so tucked in, a little bit of sheen against the dark richness of the surrounding pines. Deep into autumn, long past the careening energy of summer, the hustle and bustle, the dragging of…
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An Almost Full Moon
Although almost full, the moon was only a muffled speck of light behind the clawing late season clouds, and although barely a spreading reflection above the mountains, a reflection still. It had been raining on and off throughout the day and the ground was wet, and the brush Billy was burning was wet too but…
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Stories in the Hills
Billy had long ago feared that the stories were over, that the well had run dry, that among the trying and challenge of the world his role in it had been engulfed by a feverish pace. And then in the evening with the setting sun made more orange by the wildfire haze, he was walking…
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