K. Marvin Bruce

Terah chose wrongly.   As he tried to scramble down the dark corridor he hit an unseen snag and felt himself falling.   Throwing his left foot out he had a moment of optimism that he’d be able to right himself against the momentum, a hope that diminished by the time he got his right foot ahead.   Gravity was winning and even pinwheeling his arms couldn’t help.   Concrete met bare hands and enthusiastically banged his left knee.   The presence behind him engulfed and then passed over him.   Aching and obvious about his location he let out a groan.   No one responded. Mich, it seemed clear, had had enough and had abandoned the place.   Maybe he’d come to his senses and returned home.   Still, in the short time their paths had crossed, Terah had grown to like the boy.   His consistently dropped g’s suggested lack of education, but he’d demonstrated himself bright and capable.   Groaning again, Terah rolled over and slowly sat up. ...

Fear notwithstanding, Terah crept close to the fire.   Pulled off his gloves to hold out his hands.   He looked at Mich in the dim light.   Young guy, not yet shaving.   At least it didn’t show.   What was his story?   “What do you do for food?” he asked. “Well, I’m stocked up at the moment, but I go out at night when I need supplies.   Found a few places with locks that accept MasterCard.   Only take a little from each, though.   Nobody ever misses it, I’m sure.   I try to avoid fresh snow, though.”   He gave Terah a small scowl. “I didn’t mean to bust in on you, man.   I’m just heading west.” “West to California?   Long way from here.   Most guys head south.” “I’ve got family west of here.” “Just passin’ through, then?” “Yup.” “Well, do me a favor and wait til the snow melts.   I can’t have your big feet givin’ me away.” They sat in silence for a while, watching the small fire. “You could pro...

I’ve been thinking that this blog could use a little attention.   My problem is—well, one of my problems—I lead a double life.   I write fiction under a pseudonym because my real nym is tied to a respectable job.   So it goes. One of the solutions to my double life is that I could start putting some fiction on this blog.   Good idea or no?   I have a novel on which I’m working and it won’t likely find a publisher, so I could start pasting it here, in serial form. On the other hand of my double life I have a nonfiction book under my nonfiction name that is currently due at the publisher’s.   I need to spend time on that too, and I have a job.   And the lawn isn’t going to mow itself. So I’m thinking that instead of neglecting this poor, but truly loved, child of a blog, maybe I could feed it fiction.   That would at least keep it alive.   Right now it’s like a cactus, getting water only a few times a year.   Is that a mixed m...