Adam Patrick
Bio
Born and raised in Southeastern Kentucky, I traveled the world in the Air Force until I retired. I now reside in Arkansas with my wife Lyndi, where I flail around on my keyboard and try to craft something interesting to read.
Achievements (1)
Stories (22)
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Homecoming
Jack relished the feel of the textured steering wheel sliding through his hands as he made the turn off of Highway 90. Not that the Chrysler 300 they’d rented at the airport was any nicer than his Mercedes back home in California. And it was a hell of a lot nicer than the little Toyota pickup truck he’d driven in high school. But, traveling these old backroads had put him right back in that Toyota single-cab, a burnt CD in the CD player, neon lights illuminating the floorboard in a fade of blue, and the cold hard plastic of the steering wheel sliding through his hands as he let the wheels straighten.
By Adam Patrick4 years ago in Fiction
Anniversary Surprise
Ruth leaned as far as she could until her head was pressed against the driver’s side window. She hated pulling onto the small gravel road from the winding highway. The faded asphalt veered sharply to the right, visibility obstructed by a tangle of thin trees and vines; it cut back to the left and disappeared behind a similarly chaotic mess of foliage. In the midst of spring, the vines and leaves grew thick and green and it really was a mad dash to get across the single lane just praying that no one would zip around the corner. If the county cared at all, they’d put a traffic light up here--and that’s exactly what she’d told her magistrate. But no one had time for a little old lady and her backwoods concerns.
By Adam Patrick4 years ago in Fiction
Reflections
Pink clouds rippled across the sky as the sun sank wearily towards the crest of the Kentucky hills. It hadn’t gone down completely, which was good; Amos Tucker would be in a load of trouble if he didn’t get home before dark. He was almost there, but the lightning bugs blinked their warnings in the thick summer air. He lifted his butt from the seat and put more oomph into the pedals.
By Adam Patrick4 years ago in Fiction
The Lower Loft
Sweat beaded up on Jamie’s brow. His focus was strained to its limits. “Nobody. Move. A muscle,” he said. Billy, Amos and April hovered over his shoulder, their breath held, their eyes wide. Jamie could feel the dull twisting of a cramp creeping into the muscles of his trembling thumb and forefinger. He took a deep, calming breath and committed to completing the volatile task before him.
By Adam Patrick5 years ago in Fiction
Blank Pages
Isaiah stood at the threshold of an abandoned apartment building. He scanned it with eyes that had remained sharp, despite his advanced age. Tufts of curly hair as gray as the encroaching snow clouds were cropped close to his scalp. He listened and smelled for signs of presence. Apartment buildings were dangerous. Resources were often plentiful, but so were the risks. People tended to hole up in apartment buildings, stockpile their resources and buttress their stronghold. Isaiah would have to be careful. But happening upon this place after traveling for three days with no food or water was a Godsend. Passing by the opportunity wasn’t an option.
By Adam Patrick5 years ago in Futurism
Dear President Trump
Dear President Trump, As a young man in the military, I was told by my first supervisor -- I'll call him Staff Sergeant (SSgt) G. -- that you should learn something from every supervisor. From some, you learn how to act; from others, you learn how not to act. You, sir, have been a case study in how not to act as a leader.
By Adam Patrick5 years ago in The Swamp
Musical Mundanity
I remember when the world made music. That was what he said. It wasn’t so much what he said, but how he said it. Not in a nostalgic way; in the way a young man does when challenged by an older man who feels his advanced age and experience holds some kind of authority over the young; or, even worse, that the lack of age and experience makes the young of lesser consequence. But of course, no one was there to make such a challenge. It was only he and I. And I thought, but the world still makes music, Grandpa.
By Adam Patrick5 years ago in Beat
