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The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky. Stephen Crane

The great Pullman was whirling onward with such dignity of motion that a glance from the window seemed simply to prove that the plains of Texas were pouring eastward. Vast flats of green grass, dull-hued spaces of mesquite and cactus, little groups of frame houses, woods of light and tender trees, all were sweeping into the east, sweeping over the horizon, a precipice. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     A newly married pair had boarded this coach at San Antonio. The man's face was reddened…

Compass And Torch. Elizabeth Baines

The road ends at a gate. The boy waits in the car while the man gets out. Beyond the gate is the open moor, pale in the early evening with bleached end-of-summer grass, bruised here and there with heather and age-old spills of purple granite. The boy, though, is not looking that way, ahead. He is watching the man: the way he strides to the gate, bouncing slightly in his boots, his calf-muscles flexing beneath the wide knee-length shorts, the flop of hair at the front and the close-shaved neck as he bends for…

She. Charles Kaufman

She sits in a rustic A-frame cabin, looking out a set of double glass doors. It's a humid summer day. She's not fashionably dressed: a grey, short-sleeve expedition shirt with two front pockets — in one a mechanical pencil; a scratchy, drab-colored set of insect-shield convertible pants torn in a few places by bramble. Her forearms, scented with the remnant odor of lemon eucalyptus oil insect repellant, are well-muscled enough to show she can push her way through overgrown trails; her rough bare feet are masculine…

Magazine Skin. Matthew Licht

Jilly and I used to go for walks around the neighborhood after dinner. We lived near Times Square, back in the days when West 46th Street still boasted the highest murder rate in town. One evening, on the way up 9th Avenue to watch show-off Broadway dancers in their fishbowl rehearsal studio, we passed a 1970s aircraft carrier-style station wagon, more crashed than parked. The motor was running. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     A chubby balding Chinese man sat slumped at the wheel.…

Watch With Mother. John Ravenscroft

My mother is sleeping, stretched out in her new chair. I turn on her TV, volume low, kneel down and feed the cassette I've brought into her VCR. Like my mother the machine is old and doesn't always co-operate, but I've caught it on a good day. It swallows the tape without complaint and begins to run. I ease back towards the settee and settle down to watch. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     The images flicking across the screen are black and white - cleaned up, but still grainy. A xylophone…

The Girl And The Habit. O. Henry

  The critics have assailed every source of inspiration save one. To that one we are driven for our moral theme. When we levied upon the masters of old they gleefully dug up the parallels to our columns. When we strove to set forth real life they reproached us for trying to imitate Henry George, George Washington, Washington Irving, and Irving Bacheller. We wrote of the West and the East, and they accused us of both Jesse and Henry James. We wrote from our heart - and they said something about a disordered…

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The Worst Way to Go. Dan Morgan

There was this time in Houston once when I did something that's been hanging around in my mind over the years, tucked down inside of me like a lucky charm that I don't want to lose, and ever now and then I take it out and admire it a little when I need something to fall back on that makes me feel like I'm not so much a loser as I sure seem to be. I used to think about it from time to time, but in the past couple of years it's come back to me lots more since I don't seem to have too many things to be all that…

The Revelation of Paisley Parker. Douglas Young

Paisley Parker was the dark-haired, freckle-faced, green-eyed girl in Fitzhugh's freshman English class who had said nary a word the whole term. Even when Mr. Rainwater called roll the first day, she was the one student who answered neither "Here" nor "Present" but just raised her hand with a facial look bordering on fear. Fitzhugh noticed her that first class for being so pretty and petite but still preferring to sit on the last row and appearing way too shy and insecure for a gal blessed with her looks. She…