by Richard Holinger
They said he had driven the road hundreds of times. They said he was a free spirit. They said he lived life to the fullest. They said he often said risk was not part of life it was the essential life. They said thank you to those who traveled over a hundred miles to celebrate his life. They said he drove fast but was an excellent driver. They said he followed the teachings of Gautama Buddha. They said he rarely wore a seatbelt. They said the rain must have poured down in buckets the way it does in June in Colorado. They said over 250 people filled the church. They said his Silverado spun out, rolled twice, and crashed into a krummholz broadside. They said he painted deserts, mountains, and trout streams. They said he never fished anything heavier than a three-weight fly rod. They said he boarded rich people’s horses to make ends meet. They said he never sold his paintings only gave them away or donated them to charities. They said given his philosophy he would have been okay with the way he died. They said the reception was held on the veranda due to the memorial’s overwhelming response. They said the Tucson driver and her son in the westbound lane would probably live. They said the wrapped prosciutto and cantaloupe tasted divine and the apple crumble was heavenly.
Richard Holinger’s work has recently appeared in Chautauqua, SIR, Cleaver, Whitefish Review, Cutleaf, and elsewhere. Nominations include the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions, and Best Microfiction 2025. A short fiction collection, Unimaginable Things, is forthcoming from Main Street Rag Publications. He holds a doctorate in creative writing from UIC, taught high school and community college English for decades, and lives in rural northern Illinois.
Emerge Literary Journal 