Art + Fiction from author Rick Wayne
I sat on a chair in the hospital and swung my feet back and forth. My dad was talking to the police in the other room. Mr. Étranger walked over and sat next to me. He had a cane. He looked a little better. But not much. He sat down and we waited together. “Thank …
Continue reading (Fiction) Chimerisma
Mr. Étranger watched her fly into the night. He turned to me. “Do you know her?” I sniffed. My cheeks were red from running in the cold. I could hear a semi pass on the big freeway down by McDonald’s. “We were lovers. For a while. You’d better come in. There won’t be much time.” …
When Mr. A. Tranjay and I got back, my dad was waiting for us. He was mad I had unlocked the door. And he had found the book, the one Mr. A. Tranjay gave me. He had found it under the mattress with my translation. I wrote it in pencil on the kind of lined …
Continue reading (Fiction) Salamongue Greymouth, Waspkeeper of Hell
Dad was on big important phone calls all the next day, with bankers I think. Mr. A. Tranjay had said at dinner that his work would be done soon, and that was quicker than anyone expected. I didn’t want him to go. I liked having him there. I didn’t know where he loved but I …
“Is the stag waiting for something?” I stood in the doorway of the old garage. I was supposed to go to a hospital in a couple days. Or was it tomorrow? I could never keep track. But I knew I was almost out of time. I needed help. Maybe I had to break my promise. …
The next day was dark and rainy. But it never came down very hard. Not enough to put you to sleep. Not enough to bring earthworms from the ground or flowers from the trees. Just enough to be sad. To keep everyone inside. I was grounded anyway, so it was fine with me. Mom called. …
I woke to flute music. The soft notes fell over me, light and gentle, like how tears fall, or autumn leaves after a stiff breeze. The stag was gone. The sun was shining. I was covered in brown leaves. I had my jacket on and my hat and my hood up, but something had covered …
