Ryan Everett Felton

  • The Good-Bye Garden: Part Six

    IX              After binding my wrists with some hemp they took me to an enormous and grotesque white building, all sharp angles and mottled with pebbles and granite chunks. They called it “City Hall.” There was a ring of deep water around it full of piranha and the leftover bones of all their previous meals.…

  • The Good-Bye Garden: Part Five

    VIII             I had to wash the taste of Sephura out of my mouth, so I found the nearest saturnalia and bummed as much wine as I could from the men and women there. About a hundred depraved and randy partygoers danced around this big bonfire and pulled each other into the shadows to commit…

  • The Good-Bye Garden: Part Four

    VII              “You horse’s arse!”             For the first time in two years this pretty little thing and I were standing face-to-face, and she wasted no time making with the insults. There wasn’t much delay, either, in the way her cupped hand drew back, like a reflex, and slapped holy hell out of my gob.…

  • The Good-Bye Garden: Part Three

    V              When I came to, some time later, it was to the tune of horse hooves on stone, and my throbbing head bumping against wood, and the giddy whispers of children. My eyelids were glued shut so when I pried them apart, half my lashes ripped out. I lay on my side, rocking, woven…

  • The Good-Bye Garden: Part Two

    III              Nod was and always will be a cesspool. Dingy, humid, smelly. And that’s just the citizens. A few bad apples, kids and grandkids and so forth of Mom and Dad’s, got it in their heads they’d relocate to Nod a long, long time ago. All these years later and the apples only got…

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