Kale Sinclair
Bio
Author | Poet | Husband | Dog Dad | Nerd | Zen Practitioner
Find my published poetry, and short story books here!
Stories (298)
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Tell Her The Truth
Sicily | 1943 Blinded by the harrowing sight of her mother’s bullet-riddled body, Rosalie was unable to compute the face of the man who had just unleashed hell upon the German soldiers on the ridge with the machine gun mounted to an American jeep.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Rolling Hills | Part 2
Sicily | 1943 Rosalie dropped her arms and immediately began pursuing Garret - frequently looking back to see if she needed to fire her weapon. They made it to the next patch of trees, except this grouping was bare, and appeared dead from lack of water. It wasn’t a suitable position to take cover behind, which they quickly realized when bullets began tearing up the deadwood.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Sock's Journey
It was impossible to see through the dense layers of blackness, but something continued to stir beyond the veil of my limited sight. Terrified of what was making the mysterious sounds, and having no way to defend myself, I did the only thing I could.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Rocca di Cerere
Sicily | 1943 The three hour bike ride from Caltanissetta passed faster than they expected. The road to Enna was quiet, save for two local farmers transporting wheat, an elderly man on rickety bicycle hauling olives, and Garret’s need to transform a tree into a urinal. Garret found it odd that they failed to encounter any military convoys - allied or enemy - but he chose to rejoice at the small win. Clearly the enemy was on a full retreat, and his fellow brothers and sisters in arms were the cause.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Mother Goddess
Sicily | 1943 Rosalie delicately opened the two halves of the puzzle box, which were fabricated together by a well-camouflaged hinge, and removed the chiseled, onyx relic resting within. Afraid of dropping it, she cradled the object in both of her palms, allowing the sunlight to illuminate every inch of its glinting darkness.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
Puzzle Box
Sicily | 1943 Rosalie swiped the box from The Monsignor’s fragile hands, then bolted towards Garret who was waiting for her just beyond the door of the sacristy. Two bullets nestled their way into the polychrome marble above her head, and the last thing she remembered before Garret slammed the door shut was the Monsignor - smiling back at her as pieces of the sacristy’s irreplaceable ceiling began crumbling around him.
By Kale Sinclair2 years ago in Fiction
