The Abstract Art Gallery
A writing gallery created by writers from around the world. From poetry to song lyrics, from essays to entire novels and short stories.
…trouble is, I got indicted for selling smack. Actually, I wasn’t the one pushing. This kid, named Enrique Henderson, was selling the horse, and he was paying me protection money for it all the while. Now the boss, Mr. Spirochete, he really frowns on the selling of narcotics, you know? He had started an edict—you deal, you die. Two behind the ear, just like…
By Jack Bristow
Read More…smell of smoke; the sound of rapid-succession gunfire; deafening howls and shrill voices piercing my eardrums; earlier some smart aleck Swatman launched a smoke projectile into the Hyman and Hyman Legal Counsel building on Johnson street in Ventura, California. Susie Bingham, Glenn Hyman's very pregnant and docile paralegal pulled her…
By Jack Bristow
Read More…had been waiting outside the gate for a long, unsettling time. I had a lot of thinking to do out there in the oppressive, midmorning sun. I looked to the left and the right. I saw nothing but the large guard tower. There was a strange sound overhead in the powerlines, the sound of static electricity. There was a fly, one pesky little bugger, who kept buzzing around my face. "Shoo," I said, trying to scare it away. But the former…
By Jack Bristow
Read More…was, for perhaps the first time in a very long time, telling the truth. He truly believed there was nothing amoral, not even immoral, about what he had orchestrated: The theft of one GE Healthcare ventilator from the First Community hospital on twenty second street. How it had gone down was quite simple: It wasn't exactly a break-in, as Max Lewis believed. But Mr. Morton wasn't about to enlighten…
By Jack Bristow
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