The Write Slice: Write or Wrong

When the Black Lives Matter started a few years ago, I had a hard time with it. I agree with the sentiment, but it felt too narrow, too restrictive. After all, racism isn’t directed only toward Blacks; in my community, Hispanics tend to get the short end of the stick. And don’t forget Asians, Arab-Americans, or Native Americans. Not to mention the same discriminatory behavior toward LGBTQ+, Christians, Muslims, Jews, atheists, women, etc. But I think I’m starting to get it. Through the patience and courage of a lot of people, I’m starting to understand. A long-time friend, Jayrod Garrett, is someone to whom I’ve always felt safe asking legitimate questions as I’ve tried to understand an experience different from my own. Great books like Black Like Me by John Howard Griffin,  All American Boys by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kiely, and Ghost Boys by Jewell Parker Rhodes have helped me recognize covert behaviors that are offensive. But the reason I love these books is because the author

“Officer Johnson, we have a report of some disturbances at the junior high. Could you please check it out?”                 Rolling his eyes, Brady Johnson leaned over and picked up his radio. “This is Officer Johnson. Officer Lewis and I are on our way. What are we checking out?”                 “The caller was unclear,” the dispatcher replied. “She reported strange sounds coming from the building and occasional lights through some of the windows.”                 “Ten-four. We’re on our way.”                 Brady hung up before turning to his new partner. “You’ll learn to hate working Halloween after a couple of years. Since people are wearing masks, they think they can get away with all kinds of stupid things. It’s probably just a couple teens trying to get some tricks in since they’re too old to go out for treats.”                 Officer Lewis nodded.                 The police car pulled into the parking lot in front of the building. Unlike daytime hours, no cars do

Rob let the screen door bang behind him. He flopped onto the couch, his leg across the arm, and blew his hair out of his face. A woman with silvery hair shuffled into the room. “What’s wrong?” “Sorry to bother you, Grandma. Mom and I had an argument again, and I just couldn’t stand to stay in the house any longer.” Grandma nodded. “I see. Well, come into the kitchen. I was just going to have some lemonade.” Rob swung his legs around and followed her across the hall. He pulled a couple of glasses down out of the cupboard while Grandma withdrew a pitcher from the fridge and placed a package of cookies in the middle of the table. After a few minutes of silence, Grandma asked, “So what was it about this time?” “Same old. ‘A twenty-year-old man should have a purpose in life. What direction are you going? What are you going to do with yourself?’ She doesn’t believe I’m trying to figure it out. I want to go to college, but I don’t think I’m ready. If I

This story intentionally follows comic book canon only loosely.                  The doorbell chimed throughout the mansion. A tall, white-haired butler clicked across the tiled floor to the doorway. As he opened the door, a dark-haired man stood in the pouring rain.                 “Welcome, Mr. Kent,” said the butler.                 “Alfred,” the man replied as he handed the butler a pair of glasses. “I’m always glad when I can take those off. Especially toward the end of the day, they really hurt my eyes.”                 “Indeed, sir.” Alfred carefully set the glasses next to a potted plant on the entryway table. “You are the last to arrive. The others are in the den.”                 Mr. Kent strode across the entryway toward a door spilling light into the foyer. As he entered the room, a hexagonal table stood in the middle with five chairs pulled up to it. A man with a firm, square jaw met him at the door with a handshake. He wore a black cape and mask that looked lik

     Cami sighed as she wiped her sweaty brow with the back of her hand. This was such a waste of time. She should really be out shopping for a dress, not digging in the dirt like Grams asked. The wedding was only six weeks away.      “Careful with that soil, Camille,” a voice behind her called out. “Shake off the roots before you throw the weeds in the bucket.”      Cami turned to see Grams had set up a lawn chair and held a brightly colored umbrella over her head even though she sported a straw hat on her head. “It’s just dirt, Grams.”      Grams shook her head. “If you don’t care for your garden properly, you’ll kill it. The right nutrients, pull the weeds, not too much or too little water. It’s a delicate balance.”      Cami answered by yanking another green culprit out of the ground and giving it a half-hearted shake before tossing it into the bucket with the others.      Grams sighed. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to do with your Saturday morning. I’m sure you wanted to

The format of my blog is changing. I'll now be posting one flash fiction story each month. I'd love to hear your feedback on any of the stories. Enjoy!  -HT      John jammed his carry-on suitcase into the overhead compartment with a grunt. He had purposely chosen the train car near the back for the fewer people. He slumped into a forward-facing seat rather than be trapped with strangers in the four-seat sections facing each other. Pulling up his virtual newspaper, he hoped others would sense his wish to be alone.      He tried to ignore the murmurs as others gathered. So far, no one had considered sharing space with an elderly gentleman absorbed in his own business. John heard the whistle for the last call and sighed in relief.      Just as the train was about to pull away from the station, a boy stumbled down the aisle, tripping over a suitcase that was three times too big for him. His elbows were level with his ears as he tried to half-push, half-carry it before him