The preacher was a neat spare man in a yellow shirt and navy blue slacks. Had she not seen the maroon Bible pressed underneath his arm, she’d have mistaken him for a Vista Volunteer.
Category: Appalachian fiction
Establishing Witness, con’t. Joan Spilman
When nothing happened, Vernie began to fear the worst. Anjean had been murdered and no one had identified her body. She’d been sent to the medical school in Morgantown; the Adult Service Work having checked the box, “anatomical gift”.
Ray Welk, 1911-1962
“I loved Ray Welk from the time I was eight years old. When the love bug bit, I felt the sting to the tip of my toes. He didn’t feel anything, he was too busy.
Lumpy McGhee, 1921-2007
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ve seen enough of human nature.”
Rena Davis, 1921
Shame is a fire, burning my core.
Lizzie Speaks, excerpt from Silver Bottle
Lizzie doesn’t have much, but she does have a high school education. After graduation, she walks home alone to find her step-father “moonshine blind,” half dressed and… Read more “Lizzie Speaks, excerpt from Silver Bottle”
Anne Estes
“Times were different,” I say finally. “People minded their business then.”
Excerpt from Silver Bottle, a memory from Lorraine.
Lorraine’s childhood is marred by the alcoholism of her mother. However, she does have a few happy memories, and the sound of popping soap bubbles is one… Read more “Excerpt from Silver Bottle, a memory from Lorraine.”
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The woman in my mind just now? That was my mother. Resurrection driven, gliding in and out as easily as a paschal moon, hungry for a feast.
Rising, a short story by Joan Spilman
Grandma looks bewildered, like a child who’s been tricked. I’ve seen this look on her face before. In the hospital, mostly in the evening. The physical therapist told me not to worry. “It happens with stroke patients. We call it sundowning. They get confused. Expect her to have good days and bad. Expect her to cry and be moody. Don’t be alarmed at outbursts, accusations.” I’ve never feared for anything until now.
Joan Spilman 