“When Crows Die” is to be serial flash fiction of about forty plus stories. At this stage I’m fine if one does not fit the whole. I will be releasing a new story about once a week. They all stand alone but collectively strive for a larger impression and will therefore make up a novel. I hope you enjoy as we go.

Like The Spirit

The dash radio crackled as chain-lightning danced low on the horizon. In the next moment the truck cab jangled again with the biscuits and gravy of country-western music. A solitary gust of wind buffeted Jake’s progress down the road and a dozen large drops of water splattered across the windshield. Then it stopped. This was the big country under the influence of rolling weather. A bump on the wipers and Jake cleared his view.
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The Rule Breaker

It was a Saturday morning. “The coffee maker is not ready,” said one of the old men. Like the others his form was lumpy with layers of cobbled together cold weather wear. Outside there was ice on the steps like a pair of crocodile eyes just off shore and nobody was in a rush to go out there just yet. It was a white room with a dozen men, three couches, and a large screen television flickering with the morning news.
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Never Say Goodbye

Approaching midnight on a smooth stretch of a remote county road, the air was crisp; the stars shining hard and bright. Dash lights glowing warmly Jake’s truck lumbered and loped through a restless idle. Parked on the center line he owned the abandoned road. He stashed a pint bottle under the seat, pressed his mouth to his shirt sleeve, and touched the radio volume up. The cab jangled with a deathless sweet Clementine, the biscuits and gravy of country-western song.
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Drunk Dialing

Itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the water spout… Grace sung softly to herself in the bedroom. In the bathroom the sink counter was littered with crumpled squeeze tubes and scented bottles — all in hygienic disarray. Among this congestion was a fishbowl. Down came the rain and washed the spider out… The fish bowl had a gravel bottom of pink and blue. Standing askew in the middle was planted a red phonebooth in miniature.
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Inside Acuppa-Cuppa, on the corner of Camino Carlos Rey and Rodeo, the cafe glass front looks on a sidewalk patio, the parking lot, and a small dirt island (the home of three aspiring evergreens). Light traffic rolls by and the sky is the flavor blue. Winter has only flirted with Santa Fe and the day is almost balmy. By the door two overstuffed lounge chairs bookend a small table set with a vibrant chrysanthemum.
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