Longshot Island: Leaving Home

By Daniel Scott White

Vol. 3 includes stories by Read Cook, Guinotte Wise, Demetria Claire, Brittanie Maccarone, Ed Cooke, Mike Fiorito, Adithi Rao and Edith Clark.

What do we mean by leaving home? For some of us, it's the first time away from family. The first time living on your own. And for others, it's the time we ran away from somewhere, or something.

For young couples, it's a break up. For a father kissing his daughter goodbye when she goes to school, it's the pang of emotion that can't be described. For a soldier going off to war, it's the possibility of never returning.

The stories in this issue are about the places we call home. Will we set them on fire? Will we breathe our last breath there? Will we experience our first kiss? Will our souls be set free from this earthly home to discover new worlds?

As a publisher, it occurred to me that writing is about introspection. It's about trying to explain things using metaphors and illustrations. It's the struggle to reveal the true depth of that inner world we call home.

We are all at home. And we've all left home. In the end, home is where you find yourself. And lose yourself.

Welcome to Leaving Home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Scott White
• Release date: Dec 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781970134018

Daniel Scott White

Member of a band of Stray Tablets. Winner of more than fifty film festivals. I was born in the mountains but now live by the sea.

Book preview

Longshot Island

Leaving Home

EDITED BY

DANIEL SCOTT WHITE

LONGSHOT PRESS

Copyright

Published by Longshot Press

Longshot Island Vol. 3 Copyright © 2017

by Daniel Scott White

Longshot Island is an imprint

of Longshot Press.

longshotisland.com

longshotpress.com

No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced in any form, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, without the written permission of the publisher or the author.

ISBN 978-1-970134-01-8

Smashwords Ebook Edition

Compass

Overture

Daughters and Rainwater

by Read Cook

The Big Kiss

by Guinotte Wise

Bryan is a Stupid Man

by Demetria Claire

The Fire

by Brittanie Maccarone

The Night Manager

by Ed Cooke

Climbing Time

by Mike Fiorito

No Strings Attached

by Adithi Rao

Bless Me, Tomatoes

by Edith Clark

Your Turn

Acknowledgments

All stories used by permission of the authors.

Overture

What do we mean by leaving home? For some of us, it’s the first time away from family. The first time living on your own. And for others, it’s the time we ran away from somewhere, or something.

For young couples, it’s a break up. For a father kissing his daughter goodbye when she goes to school, it’s the pang of emotion that can’t be described. For a soldier going off to war, it’s the possibility of never returning.

The stories in this issue are about the places we call home. Will we set them on fire? Will we breathe our last breath there? Will we experience our first kiss? Will our souls be set free from this earthly home to discover new worlds?

As a publisher, it occurred to me that writing is about introspection. It’s about trying to explain things using metaphors and illustrations. It’s the struggle to reveal the true depth of that inner world we call home.

We are all at home. And we’ve all left home. In the end, home is where you find yourself. And lose yourself.

Welcome to Leaving Home.

Daniel Scott White

Editor-in-Chief

Daughters and Rainwater

Read Cook

John was the very first person I met in college, and we formed a fast and strong friendship that lasted through graduate schools and moves around the country and we eventually found ourselves in the same city, starting families. Old friends, groomsmen, all that, and still we only got together a few times a year, always at his initiation. I had grown into a thirty-seven year old who shrunk at the mere thought of reaching out to even people I love.

But it is rejuvenating to see old friends and it was therefore particularly painful when, just before the oysters arrived, John described to our end of the table the car wreck he and his youngest daughter had survived in September. So ashamed I was at learning of the incident three months after it had happened that the mercury flavor of guilt coated my gums for the duration of his story. If I was a better person I would have known about this sooner, I told myself. I could have brought over dinner, maybe some books for his girls.

So you’ve heard how time slows down in life and death situations, right? John said and we nodded because we had indeed heard that. He cut the air with his hand, committing to the cards on the felt. Absolutely true. In the four seconds between the time we hit the concrete divider, spun across three busy lanes, and came to a rest on the shoulder, I had the following thoughts, all slow and clear as day. And he ticked them off on his fingers as we leaned closer. Our wives were in another world, laughing with each other over a different story.

Well, you’ve just killed yourself. Thumb.