Ryan E. Felton

  • The Man Who Ran for God (pt. 8)

    SELAH: III There is a stomp, a shattering of glass, and blood. The bridegroom collapses into a heap upon the bunched train of his newly-minted wife’s gown. Flat red flowers bloom on the white of her dress from under her man’s heel, where shards of a wine vessel sparkle in sunlight from the dirt —…

  • The Man Who Ran for God (pt. 7)

    III. …But with Many Advisers They Succeed “What was that horseshit? ‘Bad muchacho?’ Did you hear yourself out there?” Inside the Doddville bus, Kratz leaned against a crafting table, shaking in his mauve Adidas windbreaker. With the back of a hand he knocked a squeeze-tube of adhesive paste into an unreachable crevasse under the console.…

  • The Man Who Ran for God (pt. 5)

    VIII. A Vain Man through Pride Causeth Debate It was small, this little playhouse stage. Big enough to put on Our Town but certainly not The King and I. Two podiums were on either side, flanked by the drawn and roped curtains. Dodd looked around, heart pounding, forehead damp and chilly. But no one else…

  • The Man Who Ran for God (pt. 4)

    IV. I Will Spue Thee out of My Mouth             They met not at any Waffle House but an Arby’s where two highways crossed. Dodd went alone, driving a rental car. He put on a red baseball cap and sunglasses before he went in. Now was not a good time to stop for selfies with…

  • The Man Who Ran for God (pt. 3)

    SELAH: I             In an office bigger than many men’s own homes sits a withering human being — white, male, hairless with crepe paper for skin. Fingers like rotting twigs press a button near his lap. There is a resulting buzz which summons another ancient man. They are both dressed in couture out of time…