T.R. Hendricks

Echo five nine eight rockets through the exosphere, and death comes with it. Outside the drop ship’s starboard side porthole the vastness of empty space gives way to the successive layers of planetary insulation. The black void fades while lighter skies below them begin to appear. A faint orange glow tinges the underbelly of the landing craft as the protective plating heats up. The same plating that lines the ramp to the clutch hold. It won’t be long before that ramp drops. Overhead a syncopated…

The crack of the pistol sets him free. The blocks behind him a one time obstruction no longer holding sway. The pulsing of blood in his ears and the drum of his heart drowns out the crowd and footfalls behind him. He is a flash into the first turn. A gale force wind as he rounds the bend. A striding thoroughbred coming into the straightaway. Born for this. Raised for it. Trained for it. This is his world. His life. Once threatened and now reclaimed.…

After we’ve returned home From all the beers and BBQs From all the well meaning “Thank Yous” Misplaced yet appreciated We place our keychains back on the hook A single dog tag clanking against hardware The KIA bracelet still sits on our wrist Or upon a mantle Next to a picture The sun goes down on celebration The next day rises but their memory remains Constant Perhaps faded Perhaps dulled But ever present No matter what the calendar says Their presence is felt We remember…always…

The rock hits the old man just above his eyebrow. Elint stumbles backward from the force of the impact. His feet tangle in some pottery bowls stacked up in front of a merchant’s stand. Elint tries to steady himself on his cane but can’t find his balance in time. He goes over with a mighty crash, several of the dishes breaking in the process. His milk bladder, newly paid for and topped off, flings through the air as he tumbles over his back. It lands…

Silverware clinks on Rachel’s fine china. The scents of a day’s worth of cooking hang in the air above the table. Wine. Lots of wine. Not the thirteen dollar a bottle nonsense that was so prevalent in her house growing up. Never that. Not with Rachel’s mother in law here. Alice always ensures they drink the very best, even if it means bringing her own supply of what she considers best. Her husband’s Aunt Julia, Alice’s sister, sits across the table happily sloshing the contents…

Sadie rushes back to the couch in the center of the living room. Sitting down, she tries to pretend that she wasn’t watching for their car out the front window. Swallowing her feverish panic, Sadie picks up her book and flips it open. If anyone was paying attention they’d realize she couldn’t have read that far in the amount of time they were gone. Car doors shut and a moment later, keys jostle and scrape in the locks. The front door opens, her Dad stepping…

The Adventures of Killer Cain 1983. Clang. “On the Gate!” Clang. “Crack one five!” Crank. Clang. “On the fucking gate!” Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. All day. Everyday. Endlessly. Relentlessly. Every fifteen minutes guaranteed, with others interspersed between the quarter hours. The clanging of the gates. The barred doors being opened and closed. Crack them for meals. Clang. Crack them for showers. Clang. This guy’s going to medical. Clang. This guy is heading to court. Clang. The bars never stop. They slam and reverberate in their…

The wind rustles the leaves on both shores, the branches swaying and cracking under the sustained breath. An exhale that seems to go on long past when it should have ended. It is a deep sigh, foreboding, in many ways a lament. As if the very air shared in their mourning. The wind has a chill to it, the first bite of the upcoming winter. The promise of cold far deeper and greater than this. For now, it is enough for some of the men…

‘Twas the Write before Christmas, when all through the house Two devices were stirring, my keyboard and mouse My outlines spread out, before me with care In hopes that ideas, soon would be there The children were nestled all snug in their beds, So I wrote a huge battle scene My hero lopping off heads Sword flying, men crying, their blood being splattered The peace of the kingdom I wrote being shattered Shields splintered, limbs severed Armor caved in with a crash Perhaps later my…

The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. It’s cold tonight. The snow crunches underfoot with each step. The trees sway and creak amidst a steady northern wind, groaning against the movement given their frozen limbs. Plumes of breath escape me as I continue to push across the frontier, ragged given the lingering cough that has persisted since the last time I saw civilization some weeks ago. More and more I lean on the shaft of my modified lance, more a spear than the traditional mounted…