By Ronnell Kay Gibson You give one pink fairy armadillo a belly rub, and now look what’s gone an’ happened—I’ve got an army of the little buggers. The first armadillo showed up a week ago. My dog, Brewser, plum scared the bajeezers outta me when he started barking at the butt-crack of dawn. The border
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Vills climbed onto the bottom rung of the wooden fence and peered into the pen. “Willy, can you really understand what he’s sayin’?”
His older brother squatted, staring into the eyes of their piglet, Charleston. “Shhh. I gotta concentrate.”
Charleston snorted, squealed, and danced around in a circle.
Vills leaned his shoulders over the
Alvina Hutcherton lifted her nose to the sky, spread her fragile, black wings, and reveled in the crisp, night air. She hadn’t been able to fly in years. Old age was a downer, even for a bat. But every night, Nurse Shelly would put on her black sunhat, perch Alvina on top of it,
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Wars are ugly affairs, even when you’re a Leprechaun. Normally, I don’t involve me’self in the business of men, but when their gunslingin’ began to ravage me Irish homeland, I had no choice.
I planned to cause a wee bit more mischief to encourage these savages to flee me country. So, after makin’
The sheriff tossed the yellowed documents onto the Sutton’s kitchen table. “I’m sorry to tell you folks. The documents are real.”
A small cry erupted from Margaret’s lips.
Hank moved behind his wife and gripped her shoulder, hoping the warmth of his hand would lend her strength. “Are you sure, Sheriff?”
“I’m sure.
A bitter breeze rakes over my cheeks as I step from the Jackson Hole Aerial Tram, but it’s not the cold that sends shivers skittering through my gloved hands and up my arms. It’s excitement.
Up ahead, my best friend, Brandon, faces me, a wide smile plastered on his face. He signs the words,
“At least we caught it early.” I offer a box of tissues to Renee Halloway as we stand outside her son’s hospital room. When she doesn’t grab it, her husband John takes the box instead.
I hate giving bad news. It wrenches my stomach every time I have to say cancer.
Cool water rushed down Prince Edward Mackivoy’s throat, instantly reviving his parched mouth and spirits. It had taken him a week to cross the desert, and he had run out of water two days ago.
Grit still clung to the roof of his mouth, so Edward stuck his face back in the meadow stream
Toby toddles from his spot at the foot of my bed and starts licking my three-day old stubble. His sloppy kisses don’t tickle my skin. They’re are not cold, wet, or grainy. I can smell his minty breath—must’ve stolen a mint out of one of my pockets again—but, I can’t feel the warmth
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My aunt and uncle will kill me when they find out I’ve left. The compound, they remind me daily, is the only place we’re safe.
I set out early, planning to be back before they realize their oldest niece is gone. It’s only eight miles to our house, and I’m in good shape.
I dive from the rooftop just before a second blast sends another explosion of bricks bursting from the building’s exterior.
Above me, Captain Tremendous shouts, “Kid, get out of there. Now.”
No need to tell me twice. I leap from the fire escape to the balcony to the rooftop to a higher rooftop where my mentor stands waiting, his red cape flowing in the night breeze. The initials “CT” shimmer across his chest. At his feet, my assailant is already tied up in CT’s signature coils. Boy, he’s fast.
Prince Stewart Johannes Percival Ashford rolled over in his antique sleigh bed, yanking the Egyptian cotton sheets over his head. “Humphrey, go away. I’m sleeping.”
Humphrey ignored the command, as he did every morning, and marched across the room. “It’s the Day of Thanks, Master Stewart, and your parents have a full day of festivities planned.”
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