I finally found Waldo. Keeled over drooling on the polished walnut bar with a half-finished drink sweating in his hand. His glasses were slightly askew and he smelled of the whiskey and sour mix. I passed through dust motes swimming in the angled sun rays peeking through the only window. My footsteps caught the … Continue reading I found Waldo.
Kasey and Dale headed east atop ragged horses, parched from another march through the cracked-dry desert. Behind them, the sun swelled to an orange monster as it drifted to the horizon. Both men hadn’t shaved in weeks and their army-issued shirts clung to the ribs under each arm, darkened with sweat. Their horses were even … Continue reading Get me a Drink.
Mrs. Kittery yawned behind her desk and scanned the thirty pairs of eyes facing her. Fatigued, the magenta colored classroom seemed to suck her energy through her shoes. “Okay class, open your math books-- Nicky, eyes up here-- to page 31.” So began another day. Math and social studies dragged and her … Continue reading Smiling faces, sometimes.
She looks at him with nervous eyes and slips out of the knee-length robe into lingerie. In the midst chilly March nights, she shivers and gooseflesh pimples up and down the backs of her arms. She presses her palms lightly to each hip and turns to accentuate her hips. Well? He smiles, not … Continue reading Midnights in March
My cons and I slap the pavement along the waterfront with jazzual rhythm. I’m fresh off first shift at the cafe-- eight hours of my customer service mask and novella-length-extra-whip orders. Now I embrace my resting bitch face. I complete my ensemble with my headphones. My fall fashion: don’t talk to me. Across the … Continue reading Late Lunch Special.
The dead men’s boots were the first thing the pirates took. “We need their uniforms and their flags. Would you all stop worrying so much about their boots? Here,” Charles said, rolling the stiffening guard on his stomach. The sight of so much blood made him queasy. “Someone help me get his jacket off.” … Continue reading Fire on El Sanson.
Detective Monroe adjusted the box of tissues on his desk. He disliked, no-- loathed these meetings. Not because of the work, but because of the emotional tax. His face would flush, hands would begin to shake and he would have to wring them or sit on them. He’d even pretended that his eye itched … Continue reading Irving, the missing person
I thought it was just a colloquialism about patience-- it is. But, four hours and 13 minutes later and this water still hasn’t started boiling. “Honey, what are you doing?” Mom says. “Trying to watch water boil.” I say, rubbing one eye then the other, deliberately maintaining eye contact. There’s a long … Continue reading Watched Pots Never Boil–Supposedly.
The first tooth came out with a simple yank. Jonathan screamed and writhed under the ropes. “Stop,” I said flatly. “You’re only going to make this harder on yourself.” I cupped his lower jaw again and dug my fingers into his cheeks between his teeth. My pliers chipped his two front teeth, and I … Continue reading Why you shouldn’t take Dave’s Lunch.
Yo, are you even watching, Chevy says throwing another bottle cap at the side of my head. It rings off the arm of my glasses, plastic against metal. Fingers tighten around my shoulder and Chevy lurches up to see my screen. She’s there again. I don’t know how. Must’ve been autopilot. It’s been happening … Continue reading Her midichlorian count is off the charts.