A Hermit-Crab Hiding In the Shape of a Husband
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Category: General Fiction
436: Farewell Neighborhood Dive; Another Week That Was; and the Debut of International, Interstellar, Interdimensional Cloven Hoof Shaking Day
Taking the Dive
Recently, after nearly forty years of business, the nearby Social Club Tavern has closed for good. There’s a special sadness when the wild things in life die.
Still, it’s strange to feel sentimentality for something that was one hell of a long way from sentimental during its existence. The Social Club was rough and tumble. I saw some guy punch the window out of the front door after a fight with his girlfriend. A piece of plywood replaced the window for about a year. I usually like to glance through the window of a bar to get a feel for the situation. Since the Social didn’t have any other windows except the one on the front door, entering blind was a roll of the dice. Only hell knew who or what waited inside.
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Beards by Ann Marie Potter
Wanda missed the bars that had surrounded her since she was fourteen. They weren’t really meant to imprison her, of course. They were meant to add to her mystique, to convince the carnival customers that she was wild and dangerous, that the fur on her face made her kin to the wolf that had eaten grandma. Turns out, she’d needed those bars to protect herself. Full-grown men, probably deacons in their churches, had growled and laughed and rattled the bars to get a rise out of her. Her mother had trained her not to respond. Middle America was full of idiots who stroked their shotguns like they stroked themselves in darkened movie theatres. Although she was on display, in truth she was the one who had a front-row seat. She’d sat behind those bars for nearly forty years watching a parade of men who grinned like fools when their crops came in and snarled at their families when they didn’t. She was there when young men started coming through with empty shirt-sleeves and even emptier eyes. She’d heard the grumbling when the law said that Blacks could come to the show “right alongside the upstanding White folks” of rural Atlanta. Two-years-ago, she’d reveled in the South’s dumbstruck disbelief when a Black man took a seat behind the desk in the Oval Office.
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Eggshells by Amy Rains – Includes references some readers may find distressing – see tags.
Sitting forward on the hard plastic cushions of what some might call a couch, you remember your sister once told you death is an ocean: waves crashing and receding again into the watery stuff from whence they came. You remember how you used to find that image comforting, the oneness of it all, and shake your head now at the thought of it. The sterile smell of the room around you isn’t quite sharp enough to cut through a wandering mind, so you press your hand against the looming incubator to your left and hum some tune from your childhood loud enough to drown out the CPAP machine—the one that whirrs and hisses in the unmistakable timbre of crashing waves.
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The Doppler Effect by Mark Russ
The D train doors closed just as Sammy stepped onto the platform of the West 4th Street station. Slightly miffed, he was nevertheless glad to be out of the January cold. He removed his pipe from the pocket of his overcoat, filled the bowl with loose tobacco, tamped it down into a wad, and lit it with a strike anywhere match he ran across the metal No Smoking sign on the station wall.
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Clean hands by Otto Alexander
Dr Williams soaped his hands under water. Important to keep them clean, he thought. For me more than anything. He watched the suds spill into the sink, twirling in clean white loops, neatly gurgling, almost comforting. At last, he withdrew; hands blue and sparkling from the cold.
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WEEK 435: Crows; Brilliance and a Fourth of July Salute to the UK
And the Brain Dead Shall Lead Them
If it weren’t for slogans and bumper-sticker philosophies, management would have very little to say at work meetings. Just the other day, at a meeting, I heard the slogan “Write What You Know” “shared” by a member of the “team” (as anyone who has worked at least one day in life, the preponderance of facetious quotation marks soon becomes obvious). I work in a government warehouse that delivers supplies procured from the “civilian sector” to various locations on base. Cases of toilet paper and flats of bottled water, that sort of stuff. There ain’t a whole lot of writing what I know in that field, yet it got said because it has taken its place among managerial verbal dingleberries such as “Wow, let me look into that and get back to you”–which, translated from management-speak, means “I do not care, and hell will grow petunias before I get back to you.”
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Meeting of the Minds by Neil Jefferies
One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three… What is that? A mole? When did that get there? Oh god. Fucking fuck. It’s OK, you’re FINE you ugly hog, you. Ian is going to hate this. You think he’ll take you in? With that thing on your face? Keep dreaming. People, better yet, Canada doesn’t care what’s in that peanut brain of yours, they care about what is covering it up. Go ahead, tell yourself that’s a stupid thought. Tell yourself you’re OK.
‘You are OK’.
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The Returning by Rob O’Keefe
The wind off Nauset Bay is strong and insistent, demanding my presence. It draws me from the long comfort of my home, and yet, it does not have to pull too hard. This is the debtor’s wind and I know why it is here.
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Nicholas by James W. Morris
Charles D called me neurodivergent, which he thought was a good insult but I told him it just meant I wasn’t average, which I’m not. He was flummoxed. A good word, flummoxed. It’s in my Favorite Words book.
Then I remembered to smile knowingly at Charles D, which is something Aunt told me to do with bullies or attempted bullies. Aunt, as she always tells me, knows her shit. Charles D eventually wandered away.
Aunt took me in when Dad died (Mom’s location unknown). Cause of death was organ failure but isn’t it always? A liver fails when you drink too much. A brain fails when a bullet is shot into it. Lungs fail when you drown.
Made a note. Find out a more specific cause of death for Dad.
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