Why would life be so unfair to me? What have I done to deserve all this pain and, hardship? Sometimes I sit alone, lost in the quiet hum of the night, questioning every breath I take, every step I make. I search my heart for answers that never come, and the silence feels heavier than words.
What sin did I commit to be born into such deprivation?
“Everyone is going to stare. Don’t make eye contact or speak to anyone. They’ll ask for money.”
“What about family?”
They’re even worse. Just look mean.”
Continue reading “The Two Ringed Hotplate by Michael Shawyer”
She wants to meet on Friday at a restaurant.
We have to talk.
About what I wonder.
Could it be that after all these years she has had enough?
Enough of buying groceries and cooking you delicious meals
Enough of walking in the park
Continue reading “A Final Thing by Adam Kluger “
The discovery of skeletal remains in the woods near the Quitipea River has brought back memories of Robert Nix. I knew him as a kid and thought he was just weird at first—we all did, even the teachers. It was only later that I—and I alone—discovered he was actually insane; I just didn’t know the depth of that insanity, not back then, anyway. I know now.
Continue reading “Waiting for Robert Nix by Héctor Hernández”
I do it on a cold December day in Oakland, California. I sign the papers and pass the physical. In three days, I will belong to the United States Air Force, my freedom from her and her freedom from me.
Continue reading “The Great Escape by Frederick K Foote”
I was riding the bus last week when I was attacked by a MWCM, which stands for “Misty Water Colored Memory” (lifted from that gooey Barb song she sang before she got the perm that made her look like “Arnold Horshack” on Welcome Back Kotter–a dated reference but very true). As you have likely guessed MWCM is a sarcastic term. It defines an elderly concept in my “Ago” that is always attempting to change me into a sniveling old Shrew. We all have something like that inside (or will once fifty or so comes creeping), an ugsome, nettlesome something that (apparently) has invested heavily in old Shrew futures. I cannot kill mine but I can temporarily beat it to atoms by using my hard, old cold heart as a hammer. I often take satisfaction in imaginary acts of violence. They keep me balanced.
Continue reading “Week 551: The Attack of the MWCM; The Week That Was; A Belated Happy 80th to Debbie”
We went to a local theater production of Little Shop of Horrors. The talking plant looked like a guy in a beanbag, and the singing was off-key. I didn’t mind because I was with you. After the show, you mistook shasta daisies vs. ox-eye daisies at the restaurant. I chuckled and suggested you should learn your flowers — a modest proposal.
Continue reading “Say It With Flowers by David Henson”
Man, in my neck of the woods, color still rules; White, you all right, Brown, stick around, Black, get back. And sometimes we be so black we be blue. And the rules flip on you. Sometimes they do a back flip when you blue-black.
Continue reading “Blue-Black by Frederick K Foote”
The world has always been a snippy place (for instance, the title of this wrap was sneered at me by my boss in 1981. You can’t say stuff like that to employees anymore, but I am certain that the feeling is still felt). In big cities, especially, people go out in public with war faces on. Regardless, you used to be able to count on a reasonable degree of faked manners from clerks when you were shopping (I was often one of those clerks). Not anymore. Nowadays, it appears that the Corporate Stores hire only soulless people for customer service.
Continue reading “Week 549: “Be Nicer, Goddammit!””
The feeling had been growing inside of Henrik Hammersmith for quite a while now.
Damn construction noise.
Start again.
Continue reading “I do this by Adam Kluger”
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