Mom is asleep in the big chair downstairs. Fuzzy voices creep up the stairs and into my room. I bury my head in my pillows.
Disability hit mom’s bank account yesterday. I know because she makes me check for her. Mom doesn’t like to use the computer, she’s old fashioned that way.
There’s the faint groan of mom’s snore and the tic tic tic of her easy chair as her body bounces from side to side. Goodness mother, I would say. Get a new chair.
Mom doesn’t reply.
She likes the TV medical shows. The handsome doctors and buxom nurses…
I ran across the patch and felt the ground crunch beneath me. October had swept in on a whisper and with the first touch of frost, we celebrated the harvest.
Henry was the fastest and my friend also. I wished he would pass me the ball. He slipped and swirled, darting under arms and shooting past tackles until he was standing over the white oak branch that we used as a goal post. I stopped running and stooped over, pushing my hands deep into the flesh above my knees. Chilled air filled my lungs. Bright greens and scarlet swirls wiggled…
Three glowing glass tubes burned red below an iron lattice frame. Classical music piped through the room. A man sprawled across a couch. In his early thirties with tousled hair and three day stubble, he held a book loosely against his chest. The tubes of the space heater grew brighter. The music softened and a hand drifted into a billow of hot air. The man shut and opened his eyes. He looked up and stared blankly at the manila white ceiling. A billow of cold air drafted in from the cracked window. Grunting, he turned his body to the heater.
The scarf was wound too tight around the old man’s throat. He tugged and loosened it until a comfortable gap opened at the nape of his throat. Then, he knocked on the door. He watched his breath push out in silky silver plumes. It was February and the sky was a dead white. His face was numb and Christmas was past so long as to be almost forgotten. The door opened.
A woman almost as tall as the man stood inside. She wore a baby blue night gown beneath a faded pink bath robe. Her face was tired.
Below the water, a vast pod of translucent shrimp bobbed and drifted. The man reached down from where it was shallow and plucked one. Its milky carapace obscured but did not hide the warm, colorful lights that emanated from its interior. The man gently unscrewed the creature’s head and looked into its abdomen. Wiry tubes glowed in evergreen and scarlet hues. Pulsing sapphire blood spilled and squirted onto the man. He looked down at his spotted torso and used his pinky to trace delicate geometric features across his bare skin. The man let the sea creature fall back into the…
The phone buzzed. A message flashed across the lock screen:
“See you later.”
Peter relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and looked down at his phone. Suddenly, the phone flew from his hand. The car heaved up. His head shot down towards the steering wheel and then whipsawed back into the headrest. A searing pain spread across his chest in a diagonal band where the seat-belt’s rough nylon strap had cut into his chest. He pulled his foot from the gas and let the car coast onto the shoulder. Peter let out a gentle breath. He brushed his fingers…
Richard put his book down on the table and tilted his head back. The bottom of his shirt jerked up and thin, black wiry hairs peeked out between two buttons. He looked at the space where the wall and the ceiling made a joint and thought of nothing in particular.
“Richard,” Luke said.
Richard blinked. He was glad to be found with an open book on his knees; the vision played to his sense of vanity. He closed his eyes and imagined how he must look.
“How are you?” Richard said, not opening his eyes.
“I’m good Richard, not too…
Please come with me
Thank you for joining us on this guided walking tour of the Metropolitan Art Museum. Today, you’re in for a special treat. We’re hosting a temporary installation from internationally acclaimed artist, Talon Abernathy.
Let’s get started.
“You are being recorded. Please speak slowly and clearly.”
“I consent to this recording.”
“We don’t need your consent.”
My partner glared at the boy across the table top.
“I understand that.” He was speaking slowly and clearly. Good boy. “Nonetheless, I give my consent to this recording.”
I slid my eyes to the edge of their sockets and watched my partner. He was seething but silent.
I put my hands flat on the table. It was a disarming gesture. That whole thing about most communication being non-verbal is mostly BS, but that doesn’t mean it’s all bunk…
Thank you for riding the Metro. We at the Transit Authority are proud to serve the community of people who go from one place to a different place, a community that we have served for a really long time.
We know that we don’t really have to advertise our services because, as a government monopoly, we have no competitors. But, the city gave us a PR budget and if we don’t spend it then we’re all going to be out of a job.
We don’t publish that information. We at the Metro Transit Authority prefer to live dangerously. …
“…man is the word made flesh.”