Liars & Saints

Featuring stories by writers Lois Rosen, Kim Stafford, Kristin Everhart, Jenna Thompson and Peter Francis-Mullins; performed by actors Clara Hillier, Aundré Barnes, Kim Bogus, Deanna Wells and Kris Wallsmith. This event was hosted at Literary Arts on April 23rd, 2016.

 
_27012847151_c31ca3d081_o.jpg

The Hollywood Life
by Lois Rosen

Though Aunt Bitsy was just a year younger than my mother, she scampered up the pool ladder like a teenager and threw her terry cloth robe over the skimpy two-piece Mom would have called indecent. “Be back in a jiff, Harriet hon,” she said, grabbing the ice bucket. “Wolfie, keep an eye on her.” 

Read more>

_Kim_event_small.jpg

Summer Rose’s secret
by Kristin Everhart

Summer Rose wasn’t like the other girls I knew.  She shaved not only her legs, but also her face.  Her breasts were flat and muscular, not budding and soft. When she dressed in the morning, she tucked away a secret. A penis between the quiet of her thighs.
I knew her before she was Summer Rose.  I knew her when she was a he—named Tommy.  

Read more>

_Kris_event_small.jpg

Uncle Martin
by Peter Francis-Mullins

I turn into Martin’s drive. Wheels crunching on gravel. That always feels classy, and it’s a classy place, but then, I found it for him. Sixteenth century manor house with the timbers, natural like they should be, not stained. His security lights come on but the house is dark. I know he’s in; his car’s out front. He never puts it away when he’s back late, and late it is. That’s not my fault.

Read more>

_Aundre_event_small.jpg

Shazam Speaks His Mind
by Kim Stafford

My name is Shazam, and I am here, your Honor, for speeding. I admit it’s true. But the proper word, your Honor, would be flying. The officer’s report said 65 in a 35 zone. But I have to say it was more like 75, tops—just to set the record straight. 


Read more>

_Deanna_event_small.jpg

Foreign Exchange
by Jenna Thompson

You leave out the part about the jeep.
Instead you tell him about the crowded bus winding up the narrow mountain road, the curtain of green outside the windows, how the driver stopped at every hairpin turn to let more bodies squeeze aboard while the wheels spun in the mud. You tell him about the old woman next to you, face like a walnut and no shoes, carrying a plastic bag full of mangoes. 

Read more>