A man with strange memories lived a few years ago. He may still be alive; I couldn’t say. We haven’t spoken in years and I’ve heard he doesn’t live in Belize anymore. I don’t have a current address. He was a man who always dressed well. Always wore smart clothes. Fashionable, but not in the … Continue reading The Strange Life He Recalls by William Wren
You are in a box. You’ve only a handful of inches to any side—left and right, before and behind. The world trembles and rumbles. Every so often, it tilts inexplicably. Faces appear in front of you. Squinting. They are four to five times the size of your own. They coo and murmur. They insert large … Continue reading The Move by William Wren
Everyone in Piddleville went swimming in Alistair Stanley’s above ground pool. So it broke. But it was a magic pool. When water spilled out it always filled up to the same level and temperature. Leaking, it did its magic and fixed things. All of Piddleville then became Alistair Stanley’s pool. Everything filled up! What a … Continue reading There Are No Basements in Piddleville by William Wren
It was so unlike the indifference he’d known in the city. People were outside in the hundreds, scruffy and eager. This was the top of the world, between Tulita and Fort Good Hope, a place the Dene called Le Gohlini, and he was wanted. Needed! He stepped outside. A cheer went up. Face flushed, he … Continue reading The Shaggy-Haired People of Norman Wells by William Wren
Mr. Gushaty’s homicide was graphically arresting. When I saw him I thought how sad it was he had never appreciated Coccinellidae. It was a fatal character flaw. He could not abide the presence of ladybugs. Each spring he waged a war of no quarter given, poison his chosen weapon. I have always felt the despised … Continue reading The Beauty and Tenacity of the Despised by William Wren
As Canadians celebrated their centennial she drifted south from British Columbia through the western United States to eventually find herself swirling through California and, finally, coming to a rest in Pasadena where she remained. It was 1967. All of that is gone now. • • • After returning from the police station, she went into … Continue reading Healing by William Wren
“Are there moose in Pasadena?” “Are there what? Where?” “Moose. In Pasadena. I just ask ‘cause I’ve never been to Pasadena.” Evelyn looked at Mr. Houle as if he had lost his mind. Mr. Houle had what people called “quirks.” White hair, a little bent and a smallish man, he was frailty’s poster child. He … Continue reading I’ve never been to Pasadena by William Wren
