This is a story I wrote a while ago, for an anthology put out by my now nonexistent publisher, and it is one of my favorite things I have ever written. It is rare, but sometimes, the words come out exactly how you want them to come out. This was that, one of those magic and rare times where the song I wanted to sing just allowed itself to be sung. The title is shamelessly stolen from an 800 Octane song off of their album Rise Again, a song that set me thinking about this story and how I wanted to tell it. Paging Mr. Bronson A story by Ralph Pullins I roll over and look at the clock. 4:43. In the morning. I think of the call I received four or five hours ago, as if I hadn’t been thinking of nothing else while I stared at the ceiling and didn’t sleep. I heave a sigh, hoping, but not really believing that I can get this heavy feeling off of my chest. I sit up in bed, look over at my still sleeping wife. Hell, I decide, might as ...
Here in the Black and White