Yesterday, I flew. Packed my juju
into the pit of my gut and stepped off the Golden Gate Bridge.

Jaybird taught me this trick. She told me the thought of flying had never
jarred her mind till she saw an apple in the
jackal tree and knew that apple had grown
just for her. Destiny’s a strong thing, so she flew up to taste it. My
jigsaw world put together upside down. No thought but walk against the wind, so I

jumped and sped into the sky where the ocean rippled across the jinni’s
blue bottle.


Emile DeWeaver has been serving a life sentence in prison since he was 18 years old. He taught himself to write with books and feedback from rejection letters, and he’s now a 2015 Pushcart Award nominee for short fiction. He has creative works published or forthcoming in the Lascaux Review, the Dr. T. J. Eckleburg Review, Drunk Monkeys, Frigg, Kill the Angel, Upstreet Magazine, and the Ignatian Review. He’s a columnist for Easy Street magazine, and you can find his works (and occasional rant) on

Photo by Daniel Schwen (, via Wikimedia Commons.