Stories

Beauty And The Lonely Feast
True Tales / TYTT Export
27 Feb 2013

Beauty And The Lonely Feast

By Monah Li "...Over the years, I train myself to vomit without a noise. In public bathrooms, I sit all the way back on the seat and barf between my spread legs. I’m envied for my slim figure. But the price I pay for this is steep: By 45, I have full-blown osteoporosis. My teeth are replaced with implants, for the cost of two houses. Relentless back-pain, constant fatigue and shame make me suicidal. I pray for just one day of freedom, but I am stuck. ..."

Subterranean Lovesick Clues
True Tales / TYTT Export
04 Dec 2012

Subterranean Lovesick Clues

By Alexis Rhone Fancher I remember listening to Bob Dylan in Donna Melville’s attic bedroom, 3 a.m. We were drinking her daddy’s bourbon, playing Subterranean Homesick Blues over and over, memorizing it word by mumbled word. Johnny’s in the basement, mixing up the medicine, I’m on the pavement, thinkin’ ‘bout the government... Donna passed me the bottle.

STOCKTON STORIES: One Morning in Dominica
Uncategorized
26 Nov 2012

STOCKTON STORIES: One Morning in Dominica

By Theresa Asiedu "...The sun was shining, the fresh mountain breeze was gently touching my skin and I still had the scent of pink blossoming hibiscus flowers in my nose. My stepfather popped in and out of our lives trying to maintain control of our family. He would yell at everything, from the house that was never tidy enough to the food that didn't suit his taste. ..."

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Uncategorized
26 Nov 2012

STOCKTON STORIES: Something more than/less than human

By Matthew Garcia "... I hear the screech of the tires and the smell of rubber burning. My head then hits the windshield and my sight goes black for a second. My body flip upside down as if I were on a roller coaster. The car isn’t done with me. It is as if the car grows arms and grabs me and spins me around -- just as in wrestling where after being spun around you get slammed into the ground. My body is tossed to the side. Silence. The car takes off. ‘’Don't leave me here I don't deserve this,’’ I say. ..."

STOCKTON STORIES: Joe
True Tales / TYTT Export
09 Nov 2012

STOCKTON STORIES: Joe

Recently, I did writing workshops with students at San Joaquin Delta College in Stockton. The results were powerful, if sometimes even disturbing, stories of real life and real moments. Read "Joe," a startling story of a misplaced word and its effect on a man... By Gina Reyes "...Joe was my shoulder to cry on. He was my companion to keep me occupied. He was there for me to kill time and help me keep my mind from getting stuck in a rut. We would lie around making jokes, laughing, playing spades over and over, and having a fun time together to pass time. In the time we spent together, we built a stronger bond that turned into a love that was unmistakably precious. He was willing to accept me and my unborn child, as well as the child I already had. He was willing to support us knowing he was not the father. ..."

STOCKTON STORIES:         The Last Day
True Tales / TYTT Export
29 Oct 2012

STOCKTON STORIES: The Last Day

Earlier this fall, I did a writing workshop with students in Pedro Ramirez's composition class at San Joaquin Delta College in Stockton. The results, I think, were terrific, if many of the stories were a bit grim. I'm publishing a few of them over the next few weeks. Here's "The Last Day".... By Christian Lockwood I once had a house with a white picket fence. In it, I lived with a wife, and two children. Life seemed pretty good. But the shell shock from a tour in Libya fighting the war on terrorism tore me up, and drugs and alcohol became a way of life from which I could not free myself. That is how one warm August day in 2009, well into my self-medication, I awake on the seat of my pickup after another night of no place to rest my head. My pickup, my dog Batman, and my cell phone are all I have left. My wife and kids have been embarrassed by me for the last time. ...

STOCKTON STORIES: The Light That Night
Uncategorized
29 Oct 2012

STOCKTON STORIES: The Light That Night

By Darshay Smith "...My mom and I were reunited nine days after her release and she was excited to see me. From the surgeries her vocal chords had gotten deeper. Her voice was like a grown man’s and it would take a year and a half for it to get back to normal. She picked me up and held me tight. I screamed because I didn’t know who she was. She couldn’t let me go. She cried every day until her voice came back and I finally recognized her....

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Uncategorized
19 Oct 2012

Wasn’t About The Money

By Jeffrey Scott Hunter "... That was the whole point of watching the bank in the first place; I needed to know everything. You can’t control everything, but if on Friday at 10:30 a.m. there are no cops around two weeks in a row, chances are good there won’t be any on that third week. ..."

Emri’s Chest
Home Page Slider / True Tales / TYTT Export
06 Oct 2012

Emri’s Chest

By Rachel Kimbrough For four years, I could not remember what my son looked like alive. "...If I shut my eyes and focused, I had one vague memory of him laughing--the second and last time he ever laughed, immediately before the nap from which he would never wake. But I couldn’t remember his face. ..."

The Raid
Home Page Slider
27 Aug 2012

The Raid

By Hugo Garcia The morning sunrise made its way through the window into my bedroom in our second-floor apartment. As the alarm clock went off, I hit the snooze. Then I heard a loud Bang! on my door downstairs. Was somebody trying to break in my house? This early in the morning? I peered through the window, then rolled out bed, threw myself on the rug and ran to another window in my room to get a clearer view of the scene unfolding downstairs.

Climbing The Mesa
True Tales / TYTT Export
24 Jun 2012

Climbing The Mesa

By David Chittenden "...There was a breeze, a bit of a chill, a touch of dampness. I looked up and saw that the sun was low in the sky. Then the awful thought occurred to me: How are we going to get down from here? ..."

Help Needed (the un-malicious “why”)
True Tales / TYTT Export
28 May 2012

Help Needed (the un-malicious “why”)

By Rachel Kimbrough ...He inched forward, wagging the walking stick in front of him, his outstretched palm and stick contacting the edge of the pavilion simultaneously. He walked around the structure instead of crashing into it. The woman recognized the achievement with applause. They bonked around that way for a minute or so, turned the corner. I, mesmerized, snapped out of it only when the fellow in the truck behind me honked angrily ...

The New Kid
True Tales / TYTT Export
30 Apr 2012

The New Kid

By David Orr "...The ball flew over my head, and I ducked under the rope and ran as fast as I could past the hopscotch girls to chase it. The ball landed near the jump ropes and a circle of more girls playing jacks on the far side of the playground. Just as I picked up the ball, there was Sister! ..."

The Santa Fe Springs Ice Cream War
True Tales / TYTT Export
19 Feb 2012

The Santa Fe Springs Ice Cream War

By Sam Quinones

"... With my jingle going loud, I didn't hear him come up. "Hey, you!” Next to me was another ice cream truck. Sitting in the springy driver's seat, which was begging for mercy, sat an enormous squat white man, with a cap, a mustache and a scraggly beard. His belly-button peeked out from beneath a faded blue t-shirt. ... `This is my town. I'm going to dust your ass of the road.'..." He roared off. As I watched him go, I said to myself, `There goes Big Al.’

The Ballet And NASCAR
True Tales / TYTT Export
16 Jan 2012

The Ballet And NASCAR

By Anthony L. Quinones

"... The lights went down and the curtain started to open. Then the announcer came over the sound system. Due to having performed for underprivileged children of Washington D.C. earlier in the day, he said, Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gelsey Kirkland will not perform tonight’s ballet. Instead, they will be replaced by their understudies -- a Mr. Bujones and a Ms. Van Hamel. The audience went wild. A man two rows in front of our group stood up and shook his fist. The Japanese ambassador, who was sitting in the presidential box, walked out in protest, with his entourage in tow. ..."

Killing Donald Evans
True Tales / TYTT Export
28 Nov 2011

Killing Donald Evans

By Richard Gatica

"...The day before I killed Donald Evans I did not even know he existed. The day he died I was smoking crack cocaine and when I smoke crack, nothing else matters. Not family, not friends – not even God. ... At the time, I was out of money and robbing drug dealers on the streets of Los Angeles. ..."

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True Tales / TYTT Export
21 Nov 2011

From My Father’s Log

By David Lee Caudill

"...I never got to hunt with my father. As far back as I can remember I would watch my father, along with his brothers and their father, come home from a hunting trip. They would show off their deer, explaining every detail that led to the kill. Then they would describe how the deer feel, how far he had run after the shot. I was never there for the fall, the shot, the first step into the woods before the sun sparkled on the frostbitten fields of tall grass and dormant wheat. But I was always there when they came home. ..."

American Flashlight
True Tales / TYTT Export
14 Nov 2011

American Flashlight

By Frank Deese

"...Karen seemed to get what Min Thant meant while I stood nearby distracted by the round alluring eyes of Phoebe Cates, wondering what could possibly merit her poster being the only decoration on the bare walls of this dirt-floored Burmese home. Phoebe Cates was certainly pretty and spank-worthy enough for Judge Reinhold in “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” – but why would Min’s family worship her like a foreign goddess? ..."

Black
True Tales / TYTT Export
31 Oct 2011

Black

By Matthew Loflin Davis

After getting back from Thailand without my score, I wound up on the streets of Ann Arbor -- the homeless shelter on Huron to be exact. I had built up a sizable habit in Asia and now was sweating it out cold turkey in bunk beds with a bunch of other junkies, drunks and thieves who swept through the room at night going through the pockets of the destitute, and pretending to be friends in the day. ...

Sa lu bri ous
Feature Section 3 / True Tales / TYTT Export
26 Sep 2011

Sa lu bri ous

By Helen Weatherell-Bay "... As I was shaking my head, I could hear a strange “tweeting” sound. This sound was meant to notify the blind to let them know it was safe to go to the other side of the street. I knew this because it was posted on the crosswalks. I could have used just that kind of warning that day, if not my entire life. ..."

True Tales / TYTT Export
05 Sep 2011

Hit Then Run

"... One afternoon my front doorbell rings. I peek down from the roof terrace. A Mexico City police cruiser is parked in front of my door. Two officers in brown uniforms and caps stand on the sidewalk. “Don Gerald Hadden?” ...

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