Peter Wisan
Bio
Stories (7/0)
The Search
Collar, call 'er. They're linked somehow. The connection pushes something in me, and I yell out. The cry, a sorrowful call for her, for Andra, slams in harsh echoes against the wall and wakes me from a dream. Before my eyes opened, I was picturing the two of us comfortably seated in our old dining room feasting joyfully on the biggest steaks I’ve ever seen. I haven’t had a real meal since the morning of the disaster.
By Peter Wisan2 years ago in Fiction
The Great American Flood
Fifteen summers ago when I was fifteen and had no sense of wonder, I visited my grandfather’s farm for the first time. I've gone every summer since, and every summer he tells me a new story about his life. Out of all the possible lives to live, Grandpa Dale has lived them all.
By Peter Wisan3 years ago in Fiction
The Remarkable Reason the Ocean's So Salty
Once upon a time, this story found a young boy named Me, and, like drinking saltwater, reading made me thirsty to taste again; my imagination bathed in the possibilities this tale promised until I believed with wide eyes that anything can happen. My version of this classic folktale follows:
By Peter Wisan3 years ago in Fiction
The Wedding Toast
You’re looking at me like I’m nutzos. Here’s a guy in a tuxedo vest rooting around like a trash bandit. I promise there’s a good reason. Just give me a minute to explain. See that? You’re a total stranger and I felt the need to explain myself to you. That need happens to be what brought me to this point.
By Peter Wisan3 years ago in Fiction
The Resort
Far away in the mountains, the helicopter weaves amongst peaks without regard to physics. As non-aerodynamic as a bumblebee or dragonfly, it lifts on pockets of wind and drops without warning. To the millionaires strapped into the seats, it is a terrifying experience.
By Peter Wisan3 years ago in Fiction
The Amazing Instant Infant
“Customize your child!” The man on the screen announced excitedly. Dawna and Phil turned to the sound. They were a typical couple. She came from a Korean family. He was Nigerian, Phil Obasi was his full name. They’d been married for five years. They lived at 23 Cherry Tree, the street name and number of a tiny square of dirt, but, as Phil liked to say, it was all theirs and if you considered that their ring of land went straight through the earth, the sixteenth of an acre stretched into a thousand miles.
By Peter Wisan3 years ago in Fiction