Literary fiction Stories

The man’s punch could make an ox fall to its chest, flat on the stone, head black in and out. Wouldn’t put him above it neither. His feet moved side to side, creating his bounce that he carried with every step, with every day. When his feet went forward sparks surrounded the ground and his ankles were in a daze of stars, staring up at the tripped ceiling with awe and magnificence. Soon the other man would be put in a simi...

Rising strings of violins wretch in my head’s empty chamber and descend deep into the chasms of my throat. I can feel them tremble and whisper, “We will shake hands with Heaven the day all of this rubble turns to light and returns to stars.” Mallets strike my eardrums without any pattern, rhythm, or beat. Sympathy possesses either any man or God, for God is sleeping now, heavy and guarded. His comatosed arm is thrown as h...