Still Waters

The night his father died, Jeff Olliet's lungs were full of the same crepe myrtle and Spanish moss that teased his nose now in the full swelter of day.  He leaned on the tree, listening to the congregation in the church singing about the sweet by and by as the river accompanied their chorus. He …

The Bite

The decision to lance the boil on his face didn’t scare Gerry.  Why visit a doctor and pay good money for something he could easily do?  Holding his knife (the one with the coon hound on the grip-- his nicest, cleanest pocket knife), he readied himself for the first slice into the ping-pong sized protuberance. …