It was still December, but Reggie had a bug up his ass about the high school reunion in June. He didn’t seem the type to me, to organise something so mundane. But he was on the line, breathing heavily, while I examined an ancient list of guests to our long ago graduation party. How the list came into my possession remains a mystery.
Overlooking the Staatsoper, the Rathaus, the Parlament and the Burgtheater Johann ticked his finger up and down. The lighting made a group of freshmen look as if they flickered underneath an ethereal golden waterfall. They danced and laughed on the market place, took pictures and were allowed to be free. A girl with blond hair in a white dress caught Johann’s attention. The others talked while she almost tiptoed away. He lowered his finger but stopped it from rising again. Her smile. Mesmerising. He stamped his feet on the wooden floor, watched her move around a street lamp. Graceful and delicate. She’s smiling still. And she came around to the other side, his side, the dress and the hair moved like a C Major played by a violin. Back to C, but from where? Not some place dangerous, some place of comfort and trust. Of the golden waterfall and the blend between baroque and renaissance architecture. Was she even real? Could she disappear at any moment if he just closed his eyes? He raised his finger and closed his eyes. She was gone. And so was the group of students.
She had initially thought him a good enough guy, someone she could see dating, perhaps with long-term potential. Sure, they had drank too much and had sex on their first date, but it wasn’t like he drank too much and then masturbated while she watched in horror. No, she was a willing, although inebriated, partner in the act. An adult capable of her own decisions. And she thought his reply to her question of what is left if we have sex on the first night was incredible. Everything, he had said. Of course, later, when he had moved into her apartment four months into their relationship, that seemed a little fast in retrospect. But she hadn’t said no, and the decision had made at least financial sense. The rent at her apartment was a fraction of what he had been paying. Now they would be splitting her fraction. A bed monkey, and cheaper rent. She could overlook small issues, focusing instead on the big picture. Besides, she loved him. They were both adults, and could make their own adult decisions. And, importantly, he had two kids from his previous marriage, so he would understand her struggles raising her own son as a single parent. Then there was the fact that he had an actual career, a teacher in fact, he drove a new truck, and, she thought, they made a nice fit.
There’s nothing like almost killing yourself to put things into perspective. The slow, dull lull of life seeping out of your body one drop at a time, and you, rushing to say all you need to say before it’s all over. And by you, I mean me, of course.
Continue reading “A New Perspective or That Time I Was Allergic to Wussing Out by Alex Rezdan”
I had been in hell a week by this point. It looked a lot like Belfast. I knew it was hell because I couldn’t find any of my favourite bars and it was the 12th of July every day. The streets were awash with track-suited skinheads and chippie wrappers, and smelt of dark orange piss. I died the same age as Bukowski, seventy-three years-old. He had wanted to go at eighty making it with an eighteen year-old, I was just happy making it beyond fifty. It was a rare landmark for the men in my family.
Continue reading “Ultra-Belfast by Dave Louden – Adult Content”
Alfie.
Jean walked over to the carry-cot.
“Ugly wee bastard, isn’t it?”
Graham began to laugh, “That’s whit you get when you shouldn’t have weans.”
She stared into the cot, the kid was sleeping.
“Do you mean about Kylie being a lesbo?”
“Aye. Why did she get herself pregnant, I take it wis fur the money?”
Jean pulled the shawl over the kid.
“Naw! Did she no tell ye?”
Continue reading “Alfie by Hugh Cron – Adult Content. This may be unsettling for some readers.”
I remember sneaking into the old Saunders house with my older sister. The trees twisted into positions which during the night cast shadows, which still haunt me in my dreams. It was silly, but great fun. We were discoverers of occult. Patrons of good, as Father Hope called us. I miss him. Father Geary is stern and never lets anything go. He forced Jane to grow up too fast. Twenty years old and already mother of two and married to Hank. Hank ‘wooden-face’ Edison.
I still visit the Saunders house. I won’t get in trouble for going into the yard any more, but I still sneak, pretend that the shadows are moving in the moonlight. When Will and Joey are older we can play there. Hopefully I won’t be too old.
“Please. Can you stay just a little longer?”
Ella holds my palm to her cheek and smiles. Her radiance pushes through the withered dilution of her past glory and warms me as her skin no longer can.
“I’m lost without you.”
“Hush.” She lays light against me.
“I’m sorry. You should have had so much more. So much more than I…”
Ella raises her head and grips my hand in hers. “You were always enough for me Charlie. Always. Don’t ever think that.” She is crying now. “Promise me.”
”You see this meadow, boy? It was a swamp before we moved here. One of the conditions for buying the mansion and the adjoining land was that I paid to have it fixed and also the beach. You enjoy the beach, right boy? The restoration of the pier as well. How do the villagers repay us? They let their dogs shit on the meadow. They shit on the meadow, boy. They want me to pick it up… Look out the window! There’s Andersson with his ugly daughter.” Erik stopped and rolled down the car window. “HEY! Andersson! Pick up after your shitty daughter’s shitty dog! Or I will empty my septic tank all over your ugly house. I’d do you that favour. The shit glaze would probably raise the property value.”
Continue reading “The Village by Tobias Haglund – Adult content”
“Of course you can talk to him, off you go.”
“Thanks daddy!”
I watch as Daniel sprints away. Head down. Arms pumping. Balance ready to fail him at any given moment. Adrenaline fires my heart as he skids on a pine cone at pitch-forward-and-split-head distance from the wooden bench. I breathe again as he thrusts his hands forward and climbs laughing onto the seat and gives the old man a hug who, in return, as usual, pats my son’s head and continues to stare at the trees lining the park.
“I got a book from the library today it’s about a dog and Charlie wanted it but I got it first and gave it to my teacher and…”
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