David Mills | The Piltdown Review

David Mills

Talking to the Bones: Talking

Talking to the Bones: Talking

What of what’s happened here? There should be space for spaces sacred enough not to desecrate.
Lloyd’s Neck/Slink

Lloyd’s Neck/Slink

Scrupulous, astute: to the City he was sent (by) and sometimes went (with) Master Henry to shoehorn deals.
A Lopsided G-d

A Lopsided G-d

Another text, he wrote; tossed it off his tongue addressing “Negroes of the State of New York.”
Whistlelo

Whistlelo

Freedom?! I live in a lawyer’s clamped attic with Minnie and Cudjoe who ain’t free.
Fourcast

Fourcast

If the weather looks bad, you should never use four-letter words.
2018 Fall/Winter Fiction Contest—First Prize $500

Upcoming

  • from This Sentence Is a Metaphor for Bridge
    a poem by Richard Jeffrey Newman
  • Kids on Division Street
    an essay by Sarah Riccio
  • Irene
    a story by Dave Gregory
  • Truck Stop Angels
    a story by Craig O’Hara
  • The Departure of Uncle Boris
    a story by Heather Rick
Track your submissions at Duotrope