Editor’s Note: We hope you enjoy this story of the Wild West – Texas, to be specific – which captures the essence of life back in the earlier days of America. At 89 years of age, Harry is the Elder Scribbler of Fictional Café. Keep writing, Harry! Image credit: “Prospecting the Cattle Range,” (1889) an oil painting by Frederic Remington [public domain]. *** Henry Kinsey smiled inwardly, nothing to do with his fellow stagecoach passengers. They were strangers four hours ago. He was in possession of two secrets: one, today, March 15, 1843, was his twenty-third birthday. The other was Kinsey family lore handed down for four generations. He and his family agreed since the solution to the family conundrum would more likely be found in the Republic of Texas, he should begin his law career there…

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Editor’s note: Michael Larrain is back, gracing the stage here at the funky ole Fictional Café, bringing us the poetry we know we need because that’s where all this came from, the coffee and the poetry and the blues and those long-forgotten smoky bistros filled with beautiful women and cowboy poets and coffee, always the coffee, the jet fuel Jack Kerouac sucked down as fast as his ma could make pot after pot while he wrote On the Road with her Scotch-taping the sheets of paper together and then Michael, our very own Michael Larrain, writing poetry on the Kesey-like boat’s canvas sails, poetry-cum-novels, and reading his stories for darling daughter Catherine The Rage of Paris Larrain, and narrating Jack’s Brady novella with such a voice, and now a new poem. So you see why we’re understandably happy he’s…

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Legend of the Treasure Excerpt by Mike Squatrito   “Harrison,” said Pondle, “this doorway seems to be controlled by this lever. And we waited for you before moving it.” “Does everyone know the last two clues?” “We have an idea what to look for. Two rooms to go.” Harrison prepared his weapon, as did everyone else. “All right, Pondle. Let’s enter room number six.” The thief pulled the lever. The portal slowly rose into the ceiling above it, revealing a maze-like passageway lit by torches placed above the eight-foot walls. Lance limped over to Harrison and whimpered. “Bad animal.” The dog began to growl. Harrison looked at Lance and knew just what he meant. “Everyone, be ready for battle.” All of a sudden, a loud clanking emanated from another part of the room, followed by…

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Editor’s Note: We’re pleased to introduce a short story by a new contributor from Australia, Katinka Smit.  Kamaria is leaving. Her eyes are open and the sky is sliding across them. Her spirit shimmies up a tree to catch the sun, the sun that is falling behind the trees. From the sun she will catch the moon. She will leap up into the moon, where she will shine forever. Kamaria will shine forever, smiling like the moon. Pounding feet. I am fast but they have dogs. Pushing the jungle through me, pushing me. I head to where I think I can be free. I leap into the roaring water. My body is sucked down into its crashing weight and I am falling, pounded into the deep below. When I surface, they are waiting for me….

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