The search party had given up hope of finding any survivors of the crash. The island reeked of death and the heat was intolerable.
The only survivor had been following them for days, hunger gnawing at his belly. He attacked them that night.
Three weeks later, another search party arrived.
When not writing short fiction, Daniel teaches English in Poland.
See more at facebook.com/ponglish1.
As the sun sets, a teenage boy gathers coal from the side of a railway track. He’d climbed onto one of the trucks of a slow-moving freight train and opened its side door, spilling its precious payload.
He might get caught, but he doesn’t care; he will be warm tonight.
Coal theft is not uncommon among the poor areas of Poland’s Upper Silesia region, where Daniel teaches English as a foreign language.
“If that boy ever bothers you again,” says my Uncle Tommy, “punch him.”
He shows me his prize-winning right hook, but I can’t take my eyes off his nose, spread across his face like a pancake.
“How many fights did you win?” I ask.
He laughs and ruffles my hair.
Daniel teaches English in Poland, among other things.