by Rich Wright His hands are filthy. He looks at them where they protrude from the frayed cuffs of his
Category: Fiction
Elephant March
by Rich Wright When I was six, my father took me to the circus. My father drank a lot, and
The Monsoon
The war was almost over but we didn’t know it yet. I was still in bed. It was dark, but
Independence Day
It was the middle of the morning on the Fourth of July and the rain was pounding down. Dirty, gray