a short story by Frank Diamond “You have a name,” Lenore Lyons says. “Gabe Sullivan.” “You are here.” “I am.” Silver Waters of Yardley, a nursing home outside of Philadelphia. Lenore’s bed has been adjusted so that she sits up. The snap! resurrection of sentience that just right now occurred when I arrived brightens her … Continue reading Unremembered Acts

a short story by Frank Diamond As the taxi pulls away from the bus depot we almost hit a jogger. I mean, this close. I can smell the burning rubber while the car’s still rocking. And you know what? This guy stops, jabs his fist at us a few times and then runs on.  “Fake,” … Continue reading Marty

A short story by Frank Diamond We were downing brews in Iffy’s when Julie mentioned that she would love me to kill her ex-husband. Of course, she didn’t say it just that way.  “Take care of Donald for me, will you Cheryl?” she whispered. In the darkness, the bruises under her eyes could have been … Continue reading The Anointed

From Damage Control, a collection of short stories by Frank Diamond. Go ahead, I’ll talk while you’re eating lunch. We only get a half hour.  This is your membership card. I’m supposed to tell you that dues will be deducted from your paycheck at the end of each month. We have a closed shop here. … Continue reading The Shop Steward

a short story by Frank Diamond I tell them, “Country music.” Explain this to people I’ve just met, or people I’ve known for some time, or even a stranger I’ll never see again who will just come right on out and ask why I—Jacqueline Carlton, “Jackie”—go to Dodgeman College. “Do you listen to country music?” … Continue reading And Have Our Being

A short story by Frank Diamond published in his short story collection “Damage Control.” My daughter wants a hamster. We’ve already got a dog, Spike, and he’s a handful. I’m not dead-set against a hamster, and neither is my wife. But we’re not jumping in, either. My daughter’s the nicest little 12-year-old you’d ever want … Continue reading Hemingway the Second

a short-short story by Frank Diamond (appeared in a little literary magazine called 50 Give or Take https://us5.campaign-archive.com/?u=09e9431de1a89ec0d0e21d16e&id=e3a1175fa2&fbclid=IwAR1ZEZUX7DlQEL2EmzcqabNkEqz9ThfaapeWVf28mNRQ5C95USBkei2dcew

a short story by Frank Diamond https://www.dreamerswriting.com/frank-diamond/

a short story by Frank Diamond Virgil Knotts puts his shoulder into the door of the trailer to open it—that door always needs a little convincing—and even before he crosses the threshold, the question’s thrown at him. “Is it done?” “You know the answer,” Virgil says.  “I knew the answer when you left this morning.” … Continue reading The Perfect Murder

Dad and big brother, Jason, got along well — great, in fact — except for those stupid occasional arguments that any two family members can have; the kind often forgotten before they’re forgiven.

a short story by Frank Diamond appearing in The Fictional Cafe. https://www.fictionalcafe.com/ave-maria-on-the-moon-by-frank-diamond/

It was quiet when I got in. There’s something almost cathedral-like about McStew’s in the slow hours. The light filters in through the stained glass, and every echo sounds like a kneeler being slammed down. How many windbaggy dreams were offered up? How many resolutions? How many times had someone come in full of new … Continue reading Surprise!

I dream that my late wife, Megan, and my very-much-alive girlfriend, Sophia, sit in a café downtown, sharing wine and some delicate finger thingys — rare cheeses, quiche, caviar. They are working class girls who climbed up and out, and neither would munch like this in real life. Give ’em Buffalo wings! The spicier the … Continue reading The Winnings

I reach into my back pocket, unfold both copies of the formula and hand them to him.  “Here’s the Fountain of Youth,” I say.  “Golden,” Jake says, squinting at the figures. “Cheryl, you’re amazing.” “Careful,” I say. “Looks like rain.” He leans against his car, gives me a look. He places his hands on my … Continue reading The Chase

I could either lie awake afraid, or angry. I choose anger. But I didn’t become angry at Marty for not giving me a raise this year, or the soccer coach who benched Debbie because of her attitude. I got mad at me, Cheryl DeMarco. At my younger self. I got mad that I am a … Continue reading The Checklist

A friend’s dad is a ward leader and we get to be on the advance team for Robert F. Kennedy and that means Secret Service clearance and other privileges. When RFK arrives in Philadelphia in late March, we ride in the motorcade out to Our Lady of Czethochowa in Doylestown. Because we have college kid … Continue reading 1968

I decided to explore, find a hoagie shop somewhere. Hunger and the need to get my bearings allowed me to set aside the unpacking for a while. I had moved away from this neighborhood 30 years earlier. The places I knew then had either closed or changed ownership long ago. The residents were now predominately … Continue reading Welcome to the Neighborhood

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

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.

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 in the pitched distance. I parked in a cutoff in fog-laden brush. No cars passed as I carried my package … 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

“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 the wall. See?” “Yeah.” “That should help.” “Bless me father for I have sinned. … Continue reading Confession

“Announcements! Announcements!” Emily Dunn and the other students in Mrs. Metter’s third grade class at Oakwood Elementary sat a little straighter in their seats — as if that could help them listen better. They didn’t want to miss a thing. It was early October and school was finally settling into routine. “Announcements!” the principal’s voice … Continue reading Ghost Lane

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

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 couples meet,” he says. “You are colleagues,” I insist. He shrugs, spreads his hands to the late summer sky under which hazy figures … 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.

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 Stacey Lark. Talk to her and you would think that butter wouldn’t…well, you know. But that’s … 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