By: Bob Kalkreuter The shots were sudden and clear, crisp as breaking sticks. Gary Eason flinched. For a moment Stewart’s lips got pale, his eyes went wild, and he muttered, “Goddamn…” They were both in Gary’s boat. Gary was fishing, but…

By: April Mae M. Berza I was fishing for words on this sunny day to cook a poem and serve it hot for you, but it was in the stream of silence I have gone fishing. Still, hour after hour, I…