Bryan Westby

“The Temple Ruins” by Bryan Westby

Roald Dortmund was the first person to see god in over 2000 years. An actuary from Omaha, he took in the full view during an otherwise underwhelming tour of Petra in southern Jordan. Ironically, Roald was an atheist. He wasn't the only god, of course. There were 2378 from Mesopotamia, alone. But most of them had died, while ths one was still here, hovering and spinning without spinning. The hot, white starlight of the sun bore down on Roald Dortmund's tennis visor through a square hole in the roof. Eager to find shade within the temple, Ro...

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“Presbyter” by Bryan Westby

Submitted to Contest #188

That cold, damp August morning in 1553 smelled of rotting leaves and mushroom, the creaking of my carriage punctuated by the drips of rainy mist seeping through the canopy and dribbling onto leather, so it was with precocious pleasure that I signaled to stop at a public house near Chambéry to drink down a bottle of some exuberant wine. It was a fine day, having finally arrived from my escaped prison cell in Vienne to just outside Italy, and I was committed to keeping it so. I was still in France, but my next stop would be Turin. Or, so I th...

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“The M7 to Saransk” by Bryan Westby

Submitted to Contest #186

Konstantin downshifted the bus, the engine loudly protesting and shuddering along a snow-plastered roadway in Moscow. Stopping at a curb just outside the ceremony for conscripted Russian soldiers, he let the engine idle. Gripping plastic shopping bags that held their possessions, young Russians in tattered camouflage jackets looked lost, some vomiting into the hedge out of fear. A year after the Big Man declared war, most could see through the propaganda: the Ukrainians weren't Nazis and, perhaps worst, Mother Russia was losing. But there we...

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“Glitches in Reality” by Bryan Westby

Submitted to Contest #184

The click-clack click-clack of the light rail slowed while the power went out in the city, one grid after another. Inside the train car a woman screamed. "Is there a priest in here?" a man next to the woman called out. At the other side of the crowded light rail car Deacon Larry Frank looked over and started to stand. "This lady needs a priest!" Larry, dressed in civilian clothes and carrying a grocery bag, made his way over. "I'm a deacon," he said. "Does she need a doctor?" The light rail was still moving, coasting along in the darkne...

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“Mozambique Noir” by Bryan Westby

Submitted to Contest #182

The hand shouldn't be there. "And where should the hand be, Senhora?" "Attached to an arm," she said. Holding the phone to her ear, she took a few steps toward the window of her villa. "That would be the best place for it, in my opinion, and not waving at me poolside." The swimming pool was right across the walkway, set in the middle of Coconut Palm Lodge on the white sand beach of the Mozambique coast. One villa sat next to hers, and on the other side of the pool two more, all facing the clear, green-blue water of the sea. "You said t...

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