Mr. Landrew read like crazy. When I was a kid, about twice a month he’d saunter down Albanus Street in the Olney section of Philadelphia carrying the latest pile of books he’d gotten out of the library. He’d use one of his old belts to tie them into a bundle. It was a big bundle, … Continue reading The Reader

I’m a light sleeper anyway. I miss nothing: the creak of a door, the settling of a load-bearing wall, the slightest rustle of the living room curtains. It was a little after 5 a.m. when I awoke. There was noise at my door. Someone knocked about trying to get the key in the two locks. … Continue reading Dizzy Returns

“Strawberry daiquiri,” you tell the bartender.  He’s not happy. It’s not shot-n-beer. You just tagged yourself “outsider” in this tough Philly neighborhood. Now you’ve broken two “too” rules: ordering a too-fancy drink, and sitting too close to Trouble. You’re trying your best not to let on that you notice, but Trouble’s next to you. Her … Continue reading Meet Trouble

So two guys walk into a crowded bar on a Friday night at the exact moment a couple right near the door stand and—presto—two vacant stools. They belly-up and the bartender’s there. They are regulars, a little older than the crowd that averages late-20s to mid-40s. Two beers. They quaff deeply and put their pints … Continue reading The Calling

On the night of the first and most important PTA meeting of that year, 2005, the sky cracked open — according to Principal Maggie Batten’s watch — at 6:42 p.m. She’d been testing the sound system when, suddenly, there seemed to be a thousand hands slapping the sides of the building. “Mr. Norbeck?” Maggie called. … Continue reading Maintenance

I am 26 and it’s the night my father died. My mother insists that I had nothing to do with it. My siblings don’t play; they curse me over the phone. They’ll be in tomorrow. At one point, I slump at the kitchen table, crying and sick from withdrawal. Crystal tugs my arm: “Mommy! Mommy! … Continue reading The Place Where the Chiefs Meet

There was something about the ocean that made 12-year-old Emily Dunn happy and sad at the same time. She couldn’t quite figure out why, but her mother had a theory.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This short story was originally published in the spring 2016 issue of the Fredericksburg Literary and Arts Review.  Monkeydemon is the reason I stand on this bridge above a man-made lake in the middle of which sits a man-made island. It is 10:30 on New Years Eve. Anticipatory bangs, pops, and shouts stumble … Continue reading Monkeydemon

We meet in the afternoon. Since Amy raises a young child, she’s the first to leave. I linger. Twice I stop at the hotel bar but it smells like formaldehyde, and after that I usually head back to the Vault—to where we began. Inside the Vault, business people unwind and I study the list of … Continue reading The Vault

Sure, I lie. Just to calm her down. I squeeze her shoulders—she on the ground, now—and I don’t even ask “Are you choking?” or “Do you need help?” like they teach in first aid. Because she’s beyond frickin’ choking to the not breathing part and somebody sure as hell better help. I tell her, “I … Continue reading The Deposition

Finding these drugs is like suddenly coming across flashing detour signs. Everything changes. I am here in this suburban nook of a playground because I’d read in the weekly that cops had busted teens right by the sliding board and swings. The news had been accompanied by an editorial stating that the scourge of addiction … Continue reading Vapor

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story was published in the literary magazine Dialogual in 2018. “Begin.” “Father, I…” “Look down.” “Father?” “Haven’t been here for a while, right?” “Yeah.” “Well, I’m very happy that you’ve given us another chance. Giving the church another chance. “Father I…” “There’s a plastic card. Right above the hand rest. On … Continue reading Confession

When I get to the cemetery, I crunch through the ice-encrusted snow as wind rumbles over the expanse. I am not dressed for this. My fingers ache, and I keep blowing warmth into my cupped hands.

I am sitting in the Slaughtered Lamb after playing a double-header. I munch wings, watch the flames flicker in the fireplace, linger over craft beer. I’m not on the roster for tomorrow’s game. Professor Kathy Crawford sits with her back to me, at a table across the restaurant. She waits for her order, her stillness … Continue reading So Great a Cloud of Witnesses

Emma actually stopped Paul on the church steps. Blocked his way. Emma, Paul’s former sister-in-law, and her posse had been waiting, though Paul had not given indication to anyone from the old neighborhood that he’d be attending the funeral. He’d been disconnected from his troubled history for like … hell, forever, it seems. Still, they … Continue reading Trash Picker

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story appeared in two little literary magazines: The Chiron Review, and Sincerely Magazine. Here it is below in WordPress. I walk every afternoon to get reacquainted with the outdoors, and then—enough’s enough—hurry back to my duties. One day, Kenny joins me. He’s going to ask Jenny out. “Work is where a lot of … Continue reading Discordant Maps

Finally the family seems to be crawling out. This is the early 1960s. Dad gets a job with his brother-in-law. Good position in a new company. A break. You are living in the suburbs, going to suburban schools, hanging with suburban kids. Problem: Dad’s a blue-collar guy who can’t kiss ass in this white-collar world. … Continue reading Father’s Day

Old men live in shadow; it’s old ladies who pull up shades and open windows. But Bill Doyle likes the light. When I enter he’s where he’s at: on the couch and laying aside a book he’s reading. The sun diffuses him, makes him translucent. When he looks at me, I think of aquarium fish … Continue reading The Love You Take

Name’s Paul Magner, by the way. My work, my house, and my wife, Kate, rest within a five-mile radius. I am an editor/writer at a trade publication for doctors who become businessmen, the people who run health insurance companies. I am also a great undiscovered genius, or at least I tell myself that when staring at an empty screen that dares me to produce a story or a novel or anything that any publisher will want. So far, no go.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This short story was published in the spring 2019 issue of October Hill magazine. Here’s the setup. Flex’s nephew, Jake (his brother’s son) is married to Paula. Paula’s brother, Danny, kills himself. Danny is—was—artistic, brilliant, funny, and even joyful, but emotionally fragile. Then this manipulative, conniving young woman swoops into Danny’s life. This … Continue reading Forty Percent

a short-short story by Frank Diamond Published today (July 3, 2020) in a little literary magazine called The Red Wheelbarrow Review HERE IS THE TEXT BELOW A nurse comes in, checks the monitor at Jeffrey’s bed.  “Comfortable, Jeffrey?” he asks.  Jeffrey sighs. “Jeff?” “He’s comfortable,” Alison says quickly. Jeffrey hates being called Jeff.  The nurse … Continue reading Love Story

I once tried to count the times that Joey Crackers spat in my face. My therapist didn’t think that was such a good idea, but she didn’t order me to stop. Therapists don’t order, they guide. She said: “Erica Johnson: Do you really want to go there?”  “You know something? I don’t!”  And in the … Continue reading Joey Crackers

My very first hit I’m like 13 years old. I never even smoke a cigarette before, but I’m a Kat Borkowski wannabe, and she’s the one hands me that joint. This is at Newt’s on Blair Street back in the day, before it got cleaned up and put on airs with some calling it Shissler Playground, the official name.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” says he. I swallow. I say: “You are in fact my very first call, sir.” Connect! “Tonight?” “Ever, sir.” Because how can you connect if you lie? Then, hurriedly: “Sir, I could switch you to somebody else if you’d like, sir.” One-Mississippi-two-Mississippi-three-Mississippi. “You’ll do,” he says, and I hear: … Continue reading Good Night Moon