Steve Hanson
Stories (71/0)
Mercy
Phoebe’s Diner was on the north side of the city, surrounded by boarded-up storefronts and junkies. Its outer façade was more or less as dilapidated as the rest of the abandoned buildings around it. It was, Mercy had long ago noted, only recognizable as a business by the single, half burnt-out neon sign that burned a soft, flickering green light into the surrounding city blocks at all hours of the day. That same green light that Mercy could see seeping through her bedside window each night, beckoning like a soft harbor light from some cold and unforgiving ocean.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Fiction
Anthropocene
“Can I assume San Nicolas was your doing?” Mariana was already in her wetsuit, sitting near the bow of the ship and prepping the scuba gear. She was, at that moment, looking over the pea-green scuba light that, when under the murky blue of the Pacific, usually shone out in the same shades of green as its plastic covering. I was still on my second coffee, trying to catch the first rays of morning light peeping over the California mainland to the east, though all I got was a somewhat rusty, smoggy amber color.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Fiction
- V+ Fiction Award Winner
The Envious FloodV+ Fiction Award Winner
I spent most of the drive thinking about the whale. Highway 1 North isn’t as busy as I remember. I have my window down just a crack—enough for a breeze, however chilly. The thermometer on the dash reads 54. I assume that’s Fahrenheit. It strikes me as a bit cold for California, even the central coast. Maybe I’m just remembering things being warmer than they actually were. The rain’s been light but constant. Fog hovers over the mountains and drifts in thin meshes across the highway. That much I remember, at least.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Fiction
Neon Groove
NOBODY CAN HEAR A SCREAM IN THE VACUUM OF SPACE, OR SO THEY SAY. That was written on the yellow post-it note on the bottle of Saint-Emilion ‘92 La Mondotte Merlot that John had balanced on the railing of the balcony next to the Doors album. His lucky locket, the heart-shaped one he had bought for half a peso in Tijuana, was bound firmly around his neck. In all honesty, he had no idea what that meant, but underneath it, someone had written THIS SHIT COST ALMOST $300 SO DON’T DRINK IT DEREK!!!
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Fiction
The Heartbreak Kid
It was 1 AM, graduation night, and Jacob was kneeling in a public restroom in the park vomiting into the soiled toilet bowl. The park was technically closed, but it hadn’t been that hard to jump the fence, even in his condition. He breathed through his mouth a few times, trying not to smell his own stomach contents, and then vomited again, missing the bowl and splattering yellowy pulp across the seat and the concrete floor.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Fiction
- Winner of True Colors Challenge
Neon Groove
John had the Doors album and the bottle of Saint-Emilion ‘92 La Mondotte Merlot balanced on the railing of the balcony. In all honesty he had no idea what that meant, but someone had affixed a hastily-written post-it note on the side, proclaiming THIS SHIT COST ALMOST $300 SO DON’T DRINK IT DEREK!!!
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Humans
The Little Black Book
In Rijeka, it had taken Lewis two days to find a licensed Harley dealership. His needed a change of tires, which he wanted to get done before he went any further south along the Adriatic and, he hoped, eventually into Greece, Turkey, and from there into the deserts of the Middle East.
By Steve Hanson3 years ago in Humans