Now and then I'll post a new bit of my short fiction.




Fun On A Real Farm!

For decades this billboard has steered people wrong. The company that owned it went out of business and nobody bothered to paint over the outdated advertisement. The billboard continued to direct tourists to an attraction that had gone under during the Kennedy administration. On average, three hundred people per annum made the weary pilgrimage, guided by the fading image of pastoral fields and cartoonish cows. They drove along rutted dirt roads. They stirred up dust that hung in the still air like ash and bounced over potholes that knocked their suspension out of whack. They reached the end of the long road. The people gaped in disbelief at a dead-end revelation. Splintered rail fence. Meadow choked with knee-high brush. Curtain of fog thicker than woodsmoke.

Good God. Was that the sound of wolves on the breeze?

Welcome to the country, folks.

(This story was excerpted from the collection Little Fictions)

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