Author: CuongC Mr

The sliding glass doors of the ambulance bay blew open with a violent, pneumatic hiss, letting in a blast of freezing January air that cut right through my scrubs. I stood rigid behind the central nurses’ station, my badge hanging heavy against my chest—Dr. Irene Ulette, Chief of Trauma Surgery. I had seen a thousand…

“Engine off, sir!” My voice cut through the cold November wind like it had a thousand times before. Out here on the shoulder of I-71, the headlights of the semi-trucks blurred past us in a wet smear of white and amber. The man in the beat-up sedan didn’t roll down his window. He just sat…

The register drawer slammed shut with a sound like a jail cell closing. —Ryan. Aisle seven. Cleanup. That was Janice on the intercom. She didn’t say please. She never did. I looked down at my hands, stained with the dust of a thousand price tags, and I felt the weight of nineteen years settle into…

The first thing you need to know is that Jasper hadn’t eaten in eleven days. Not a single bite. The vet techs whispered the word “fade” under their breath like it was a curse they didn’t want the other dogs to hear. But I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Arthur Callahan. I’m eighty-two,…

The varnish on the gym floor was sticky beneath my sneakers, and the air smelled like burnt popcorn and cheap perfume. I shouldn’t have come. That’s all I could think as I watched Mia twirl with her dad by the bleachers. Her pink dress puffed out like a cloud. He was laughing, dipping her low…

Part 1: The Weight of the Receiver The air in the Iron Ravens clubhouse was thick enough to choke on. It always smelled like a mix of burnt motor oil, worn saddle leather, and the cheap incense we lit to mask the ghost of last week’s spilled whiskey. It was a smell that meant home,…

The wind wasn’t howling anymore. It was screaming. I couldn’t feel my toes. Hadn’t felt them since the sun went down—or maybe it was coming up? In a blizzard like this, Ohio forgot what time was. The rope of the sled cut into my palm through a mitten that was more ice than fabric. Mr….

Part 1 — The Morning After The sound of Lila’s footsteps coming down the stairs was wrong. She usually stomped. She usually sang some off-key song she learned on a tablet. This morning, there was just the slow drag of her sneaker against the wood, like she was trying not to exist. I was at…

Part 1 — The Weight of the Rain The sound of the handcuffs clicking was louder than the storm. I heard it cut right through the pounding rain and the boy’s wet, ragged coughing. My knees were buried in six inches of Ohio mud, my navy scrubs suctioned to my skin like a second layer…

The bell above the door at Ridgeway Diner has a little crack in it. When it swings open, it doesn’t ring—it rasps. Like a warning. I was in the back booth because that’s where the wall is solid. Old habit. You sit where you can see the door and the kitchen swing and the bathroom…