Little Ben

After the Civil War, when my great-grandfather Benjamin, the son of freed slaves, was a young lad of pre-pubescent age, he happened upon some leprechauns. Benjamin was late to get home that autumn eve and decided to cut through the woods. An endeavor he was warned against doing time and again by his father. "The woods are dangerous son. Full of wild creatures, deer and other nasties," he would explain. But, boys will be boys. He had gone hunting in these woods with his father and his father's double-barreled shotgun on occasion, so he knew the direct route through. Going around would only increase the strokes he would receive for being late. The woods take on a different apparition in the ev

Incendiary

It was dark. No, it was hazy. He realized why when he touched his swollen left eyelid with his right hand. He felt like he must have really tied one on. Perhaps, he wondered, I offended the wrong wife this time. He rolled out of bed and realized his second problem. This wasn't his room. It wasn't even a nice room. "Oh, boy." He said to himself. A quick swivel showed that he was in a room that was about six feet by eight feet. He was laying on an iron cot with military linen. Not a good sign. There was a door on one of the shorter walls that had no handle on the inside. The opposite wall had a combination toilet, sink and mirror. Like the kind you'd find in a prison cell. The other two walls

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