Adam Diehl
Bio
Just a husband and father writing things I'd like to read. When I can find the time, that is.
Stories (44)
Filter by community
Violence Begets . Top Story - January 2026.
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl2 days ago in Fiction
The Hemingway
My grandparents called it Hemingway Ranch, the place I was born. Grandpa always said Hemingway was overrated in his opinion but he led an interesting life and that's what he wanted for his family and the following generations. By the time I came around, what started as a ten acre tenant farm was a ranch the size of a small city. The man my grandpa rented the plot from got into some tax trouble after the firt world war and put everything in my grandpa's name. When the fighting men returned home the crop harvests were bringing in three times more than they ever had before and beef was as good as gold. Grandpa paid off the tax lien and bought out the remaining acreage and they never heard from the lessor again.
By Adam Diehl4 months ago in Fiction
In This Memory. Honorable Mention in The Forgotten Room Challenge. Top Story - September 2025.
That we lived in the house so long after what happened is something I'll never understand. We sealed up her room but the house itself was an altar to her presence. You couldn't walk over a creaky floorboard or see a line on a wall from one of her markers that didn't flood your mind with memories so vivid and strong it felt like a stroke. God, did we miss her.
By Adam Diehl4 months ago in Fiction
Not Always
Jack always scheduled his summer vacations for the first week of his children's school when the weather was still warm and the teacher's weren't expecting too much. The beach was less crowded and the tourist traps had all lowered their prices for the season. He always congratulated himself on how clever he was for this. As he watched his family from his beach chair, soaking in the rays of a dog day August sun, he told himself this time was no different.
By Adam Diehl5 months ago in Fiction
All Death Is a Stage
He turns from the window and toward his wife. In the glass in his hand, three fingers of a 10 year aged scotch sloshes slightly over three cubes of ice. It's always three. If one melts before his drink is done, he replaces it. The drink itself also is always three fingers at least, if not more. He used to tell her that you couldn't taste anything less than three fingers when she would admonish him over his drinking. She wasn't admonishing him tonight.
By Adam Diehl5 months ago in Fiction
