Brother John
Bio
Constant thinker, sometime writer. Passionate defender of apostrophes. Mindful walker of dogs.
Stories (5)
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Polyhedron
I’m going to offer you a choice. It’s a choice you make right now, but it’s effects will reach far into the future – perhaps reaching as far as you yourself will go. You could think of it a coin toss, only the coin has, let’s say, twenty sides. I know, right? Well, you toss this coin, and if it lands a certain way up, a child dies. Yes, that’s right, a child dies. Cruel. I know, it’s a very cruel coin.
By Brother John2 years ago in Fiction
The simple duties of Guiseppe Toscano
Joe calmly dusted the flour from his creased hands, set them down on the hardwood surface before him, and watched the dust float in the sunlight that crashed in through the open double doors. The unmistakable aroma of freshly buttered toast rose from his plate to meet him, and he closed his eyes and breathed it in, let it relax him. Chewed his last mouthful thoughtfully. No giveaways – tasted fine as ever. There was a breeze coming off the canal, but it brought no cool in with it, just picked up the heat of the big room and whirled it around a bit. Joe liked the heat, loved it in fact – it lessened some of his many aches and pains, and he shifted contentedly on the hard plywood seat of his tall stool. He could just about hear Mia back near the ovens somewhere, singing softly to herself.
By Brother John3 years ago in Fiction
Rainbow
If you were to ask me, plainly, and I absolutely had to give you an answer, regardless of where it came from, I’d say that blue is cold. I’d say that blue is cold, and maybe more specifically, blue is water – but only in the range of cold to lukewarm. When water gets hot, it somehow ceases to be blue anymore. Goes clear, or whatever. Red is hot, but hot water isn’t ever thought of as red, go figure. Blue is the clean Adriatic, it’s Lake Louise or the balmy Med. It’s cornflowers, it’s Wedgewood China, which if you pay attention, even feels blue, rough but perfectly even under the pads of your fingers when you touch it. Blue can be joyous, and blue can be mournful. It’s a versatile facet of creation, but then isn’t everything?
By Brother John3 years ago in Fiction
