By Matthew Senn My daddy was a paranoid man. Had every right to be too, ‘course. He’d always figgered someone would come lookin’ for ‘im one day. Never went into much more detail than that. One mornin’, he hears some shots ring out. He was a corn farmer then, our patch a land went fromContinue reading “Shots Ring Out”
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Last Meal
Flash Fiction by Matthew Senn I sit down to the smell of steak and skunk beer. There’s a greying woman behind the saloon bar flipping meals and meat with a rusty fork. She turns and smiles holding out a finger for me to wait. “Take your time. There’s no hurry.” “Cold out there?” “Yes, ma’am.”Continue reading “Last Meal”
Spit for Luck
Western Fiction By Matthew Senn “If it’s so goddamn cold in here, how come I’m sweatin’ my ass off?” The three other men who stood with Rhys ‘Luck’ Cain in the small abandoned homestead, all gave him their fair share of looks as they watched him stand next to the small wood stove wearing aContinue reading “Spit for Luck”
You got Faith. I got Works.
By Matthew Senn Marshal’d come back on a wagon that wasn’t his, pulled by a horse that sure as hell wasn’t his either. Coming to a crawl outside Farrell’s’, a group of us gathered to greet ‘im. He didn’t smile. His face & the cross onnis neck covered with dust. A fresh bullet graze satContinue reading “You got Faith. I got Works.”
