Wild Violet Featured Works: Week of Oct. 21 (Loss)
Loss can take many forms — from death to the loss of a way of life — and this week’s contributors find ways to cope with those feelings. In Ron Torrence’s short story, “The Long Walk Home,” a general comes to terms with the circumstances of his son’s death. In Channel Brenner’s poem, “What I Can’t See,” a mother finds a way to move on after losing a child. In Chris Drew’s short story, “Achilles’ Last Stand,” a music journalist shares personal insight into the true story of a rocker’s...
Read MoreFlytime
“I think you need to do something about the boat,” said Manny on the phone. “I was down at the marina, and the canvas cover is torn and shredded. The boat’s being exposed to the elements.” I felt a pit in my stomach. I didn’t want to hear this. Six years earlier, at the age of forty-seven, my husband Perry had suffered a heart attack, which deprived his brain of oxygen. After a two-week coma, he gradually awakened, slowly regaining part of his cognition and former self. Many parts didn’t come back: He couldn’t practice law anymore; he couldn’t cook or drive. My once lively...
Read MoreFish Cleaning
How many years had it threaded the hunger, eluding death’s stars embedded in the depths of blindness? I had hoped the pull on my slender line was some shy sea maiden tempting me back to innocence. But my father’s rule was clear: You catch it, you clean it, or go hungry. Now his knives, bone handled, lie glittering in the sun, and my fish lies on the cutting board, motionless as leaves in moonlight. My father’s huge hand guides mine down the silver seam and I feel the universe split open and spill its secret in my hands, oozing organs in rich profusion. They resemble slimy jewels, the...
Read MoreAchilles’ Last Stand
LOS ANGELES – William “Sledge” Mitchell, the lead singer and face of ‘80s rock band Dodge City, died Thursday of complications from pneumonia. He was 49 years old. Mitchell was admitted Wednesday morning to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center with a chest infection stemming from complications relating to a 1992 gunshot wound that had left him paralyzed, his agent, Thomas Randall, said in a statement. That’s the obit they let me run in the L.A. Times today. Originally, they asked me for a feature, but that got cut at the eleventh hour in favor of something more “uplifting.” Something to...
Read MoreWhat I Can’t See
I open my legs so the doctor can see what I can’t see— are my eggs still good? They are scheduled to expire on my forty-fourth birthday, according to statistics. I dislike statistics. They tell me about other people’s lives, not my own. Since my son died, I’ve been manufacturing hope like synthetic sugar, ignoring the bitter aftertaste. I use the following ingredients for my saccharine: sex for procreation, lottery tickets (playing his birthday and death day) and writing poems. I know the saying Life isn’t fair, but come on, I’m walking through life sideways. I can’t get the...
Read MoreThe Long Walk Home
Lieutenant General David Hartley marched into his study to eye the Congressional Medal of Honor secured to its wall-mounted display case. He raised his service .45 to fill the room with a blast that shattered the case and smeared the medal beyond recognition. The General lowered his revolver to step slowly toward his desk, feet crunching through the litter of glass. He sat, setting aside the still-hot weapon. Ten years ago this would have brought his wife, Suzanne, to the door, eyes wide with terror. But he’d long since lost her to breast cancer. He’d endured it all in his long life as a...
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