The sun is trying to tell me something.
Not a glint or peer from sleepless

bloodshot eyes but an incalescent
exophthalmic stare only our yellow

dwarf could birth. So, I hang up the
nozzle and hasten towards the Circle K,

wallet drawn, map folded. The scream
I catch is from no TV but my stomach

wailing at the slumped incarnadine
bodies behind the register and liquor

aisle. Visions of the fusillade clog my
dome. The next screams emitted are

outside on the dirt road. Banditos like
sardines in a rusty pickup heading my

way. Run, feet, run. Show daddy why all
those years on the track team mattered.


Robin Ray, formerly of Trinidad & Tobago, currently resides in the historical Victorian seaside town of Port Townsend, WA. Educated in English Composition at Iowa State University, he has seen his works published at Red Fez, Scarlet Leaf Review, Fairy Tale Magazine, Darkest Before the Dawn, Spark, Neologism, and elsewhere.