by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Vocal Media) Every family needs the tie that binds. That event or hobby which brings generations together. For my family, it had always been fishing. We fished for fluke in the bays off the coast of Sandy Hook, New Jersey on a tiny boat with an engine more suited for a moped. The three of us—myself, my father, and grandfather wedged into … Read More Passing the Torch
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Black Cat Literary Magazine) The patron behind me stood slack-jawed. It was her fault, but I shouldn’t have been triggered so easily.Her words reverberated in my head.“Well now I know what solitary confinement feels like. I’ve had ENOUGH of this lockdown,” shesniffed.“Have you ever taken a shit in front of somebody,” I menaced.I wanted her to bathe in the mystery of my … Read More Clementine
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Mythic Picnic Magazine/ 3rd Place Micro Fiction Contest Winner) The week before I was remanded to prison, I put my dog Harlan, down. It was as if he knew I was going to be gone longer than the time he had left, and in the noblest act of sacrifice, he forced his organs to fail and left me with no choice. My … Read More Harlan
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Skyway Journal) Buying a pack of Marlboros for my dad, fifty cents. The dead eyed, pimple-ridden clerk behind the counter doesn’t question me. Nobody cares if I’m 13. Rushing back to the running car, freedom awaited two hours down the blackened asphalt of the Jersey Turnpike. Plink, Plink, Plink, Dimes tossed into toll booth collection buckets A staccato accompaniment to Hall and … Read More The Boss
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Waterways Magazine) Peter looked anxiously at his watch. The school bus was running late, again. Depending on traffic, the parking lot at the Springwood Parks Playground would be full. It was a crapshoot every week, especially in the early spring. Everyone with a hint of cabin fever was eager to get outside and shed a few layers of clothes. He knew Max … Read More The Merry Go Round of SpringWood Park
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Flash Fiction Magazine) Jake lay with his head in my lap as we sat in the back seat. His mom had been driving for nearly four hours. Nobody had slept; we existed in the cobwebby Neverland between slumber and consciousness. “The Man Who Sold the World” played as we took the long drive up to the gatehouse. I preferred Bowie’s original version … Read More Goodbye Bowie
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Skyways Journal) Shirts of fuchsia and daisy yellow meant to emasculate us Instead becoming our new gang colors worn with pride Old allegiances were forgotten while New beefs were created We wore borrowed equipment Gloves worn with the sweat of ten inmates prior Bats, rationed under the ever wrathful eyes Of guards taking leave of their bullying To be entertained Shagging fly … Read More Boys of Summer
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Resevoir Road Literary Review) The Chief had enjoyed two successful, medal-bedecked tours in the jungles of Vietnam. He enjoyed being in the thick of things, but a Purple Heart was as good a sign as any that it was time to settle down. He and his seed found a home in blue-collar Boonton, New Jersey. His pregnant wife was the daughter of … Read More The Chief and the Folding Chair
by dutchsimmons
(Published courtesy of DailyDrunkMagazine) It had absolutely nothing to do with doing something obligatory with my son. It was my weekend for custody, and I truly loved hanging out with him. I missed him every moment of the day he wasn’t around. I recognized I wasn’t going to win any father of the year awards; although in fairness I had managed to come up … Read More Bowling With Lebowski
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Waterways Magazine) Jenny wondered if anyone still bothered to read the Craigslist “Missed Connections” section. It seemed antiquated to her, but it was worth a shot. There had to be better technological options to determine how to connect with someone who she met briefly at the William Chris Vineyard last Saturday. Unfortunately, Jenny may have been the only Austinite that was technologically … Read More Missed Connections
by dutchsimmons
(Courtesy of Secret Attic; winner of Secret Attic Short Fiction Contest) Nobody goes into a pawnshop of their own volition. Massage parlors, check cashing stores, and pawnshops are bastard stepchildren of urban sprawl. Each was a necessary evil, providing unique services against the grain of suburban enlightenment. Seeking them out was akin to lighting a small piece of your soul on fire and inhaling … Read More Kings and Pawns
