This is a Charles Splints short story consisting of 3 parts, each around 1,000 words, available on my medium.com page.
Charles Splints was a detective for many years in the city of Brooksend. After leaving the force he became a private investigator and takes all sorts of cases brought to his door. This particular case focuses on a missing peacock from the Brooksend zoo named Ace.
Every December he’d visit the bus stop in the morning and stay there until eight at night. Over the years he made friends with the regulars. Most of them referred to him as Old Hank and would bring him food and conversation before boarding the bus…
The young Charles Splints cases take place when the future detective of Brooksend was still in elementary school. A seven year old Charles Splints is on the case.
Find more on Medium.com
By Dan Leicht
Paul was very tall
and now I have his skull
that’s not what this poem is about at all
Relax it’s a replica
given to me as they were cleaning out the office of a surgeon
did it really belong to someone?
Paul is that you?
He wears my glasses as I write
at times I’ll glance at him to the left of the laptop screen
pretend he’s watching
interested in what it is I am writing “Care you hear about this line?”
I’ll ask. No reply. He keeps to himself, or is simply ignoring me.
Deep cavities stare out, jealous of the mug or can,
more often than not containing caffeine, some sort of personal buzz,
the elixir for the page,
Hemingway’s tactics aren’t for everyone,
is there anyone famous for tea yet? Read more ›
Please rate and share you if enjoy.
More poetry available @ Spillwords
A few of my recent poems are available to read on Spillwords.com, along with a wide array of other poets as well.
A few of my most recent:
It started out as a song,
the one that happened to play
as he made that sharp turn around exit twenty-five
on their first date. She was passing through the radio
stations not wanting to listen to a song
she’d heard before, she wanted a new experience,
something out of a fairytale to pass into her ears. Slowly
the song started, a trembling, lonesome, guitar,
frantic fingers speaking through the strings. They both became
lost and he almost missed
the exit; they were late for their dinner reservation.
He pulled the wheel to the right,
hand over fist; it felt as if the car were on two wheels;
then he pulled back the other way, straightening out
in a fear induced panic, the wheel of the car like the strings of the guitar,
slipping through his fingers yet under his total control.
It was a song that rarely ever gets played on the radio,
a song that comes only once every few years by request,
a song that sticks with you forever.
©Dan Leicht 2017