This story isn’t exactly a story, it’s an exercise that I completed for a class this semester. The stipulation of the exercise was this: somewhere in the story, you have to say “Virgil was still the frog boy.” We got together during finals week and everyone read their story. Some were about kissing frogs, one incorporated the frog suit from Super Mario Brothers 3, which I thought was rather clever. Anyway, here was my addition to the pot: Because common arithmetic failed to explain the situation, Dr. Sound developed an entirely new set of mathematics. The problem was this: in ...
(This is a revamped version of the story by the same name that I posted a few months ago. Feel free to leave comments and feedback.) I pull the wrinkled paper from my back pocket and unfold it. Alvis writes like a chicken. Two weeks ago, when I received the letter, I had to decode each word. Now, I re-read it for the hundredth time and hope that somewhere in it I’ll find a clue, something telling. He wrote, How’s the acting business? Don’t give up on finding work. Dry today, maybe, but when it rains it pours. Alvis ...
There is a region on the Atlantic coast of France where salt water daily sweeps in and back out again with the tidal pull. A small castle sits atop the hazy hill in the distance. There are two or three other hills on the horizon, but they are occupied by nothing more than grass and sheep. Everything in between these hills is sand. If the tide is low we may continue on the secret path of solid earth, which is invisible among the wasteland of quicksand that waits still and silent like a spider’s web. ...