We sat. The Styrofoam cooler was there with Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboys. It was like drinking canned tap water. I stretched my legs and a fly buzzed between us. “Ugh, a fly,” she said, waving it away. “I hate the smell of flies.” “The smell of flies?” “Yeah.” “Flies don’t smell.” “Hell if they don’t.Continue reading “The Smell of Flies”
Author Archives: Hank Kirton
The Umbrax Shift
It’s five o’clock. We’re sitting on her front porch, drinking peppermint schnapps with warm Hawaiian Punch chasers. Somehow, for some reason, she acquired six cases of Hawaiian Punch juice boxes. That’s two hundred and six individual drinks. None of the boxes include those little bendy straws on the back, so we’ve been poking open theContinue reading “The Umbrax Shift”
A Zima Buzz
We’re sitting on her front porch again, drinking foul Zima she’d picked up somewhere. I didn’t think they even made it anymore. Maybe they don’t and these bottles were sitting in a forgotten storeroom for thirty years. It tastes like it. We have eight of the awful things on ice in the usual Styrofoam coolerContinue reading “A Zima Buzz”
The Appointment
“Please, take a seat.” “Where? Which one?” “Either one is fine. Whichever one looks more comfortable.” “Okay. Thanks.” “It’s good to finally meet you, Adam. Put a face to the name. We could have done this over the phone but I like to see the people I work with face to face. At least atContinue reading “The Appointment”
American Pagans
Becky had been spending a lot of time in the company of a girl with the antique name, Edna. Edna Rosenberg. Edna “Ravenchild” Rosenberg. “Ravenchild?” “Yeah, we’re all picking pagan names. What do you think?” “I don’t know,” Becky admitted. “I’m supposed to come up with something like that?” “Yeah. We all are.” “Ravenchild?” “Ravenchild.Continue reading “American Pagans”
Table of Contents
I just finished writing the table of contents for my next novel! Now I just have to write the novel! Brainstorming is half the battle!
A Cold Breakfast
I was young once and it lasted a good long mile. Like my grandfather before me. You may have heard of my grandfather if you’re a true crime enthusiast. He became an infamous spree killer way back in 1957. His transition was sudden. In 2003, some talentless hack cobbled together a short documentary on myContinue reading “A Cold Breakfast”
Inspiration
I’m in a different city, sitting in a hotel room. There are six women in the room. They are talking and laughing and drinking wine. The TV is on and music fills the space around us. I sit at a small table, staring at blank pages. The women are purposely ignoring me. They respect my privacy.Continue reading “Inspiration”
Ligature Marks
I was almost strangled to death once. A lying little toad named Oscar Costa tried to garrote me with a length of orange extension cord. My full name at the time of this incident was Emily Brinks. You read that right; I wasn’t given a middle name and at school I was bullied and pickedContinue reading “Ligature Marks”
The Hungry Little Monkey
After many years of guilt and shame over never having written a story about a mail-order monkey, I have finally written a story about a mail-order monkey and the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders. This is what I was meant to be all my life: A man who wrote aContinue reading “The Hungry Little Monkey”
Crumbling Asphalt 