Leonard Larkin stared at his mother’s puffy face as she asked, “What do want for your birthday, Leonard?” “Not to be fat.” His mother hugged him tightly with her heavy arms, “Why, you’re not fat. Just big boned.” She squeezed him hard. He could smell the bakery oozing from her pores. “I brought home lemon
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Steam rose from the boiling water. She glanced at the old clock on the wall, its small pendulum moving like a judgment. “Fifteen minutes till twelve,” she said loudly. Her daughter came into the kitchen, leaving the wails of a birthing mother behind. The old woman poured hot water into a glass tumbler. She then
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“They say black cats are witches’ familiars.” Eric stared at the yellow eyes scrutinizing him from atop the sofa. The black cat’s tail would twitch intermittently as if it were taking notes about the visitor. “You are a pretty thing though,” Eric said as he walked over and stroked the animal behind its ears. The
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The woman sat in the doctor’s office. She nervously clasped and unclasped the metal grips of her simple, black purse. Outside, the sound of dripping rain could be heard through the medical office’s thin walls while sporadic drifts of chilled air drifted under the front door frame. The woman’s mind was in chaos. The metronomic
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Mr. Treadwell heard the bell ring above the front door. His heart skipped a beat as it always did at the thought of a customer. “Could just be Ed the mailman,” he reminded himself. “Or even Agnes from the coffee shop with my sweet rolls.” “Hey, Mr. Treadwell,” a welcomed voice announced. “Get anything new
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Mandy watched her date over the rim of a martini glass. His eyes were slightly squinted, taking in the expensive electronic equipment, the furniture, and the extensive DVD and CD collection. “Sebastian—that’s his name, isn’t it?” Mandy asked herself. Oh well, Sebastian or Sinbad or whoever he was looked like a predator casing her possessions,
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Paul was satiated with Mardi Gras: the wild clamor of laughter, the jazz music, the heavy layers of gold, green, and purple beads swinging from bodies crowding the booby balconies, and, most of all, the vast portions of oysters, crayfish, gumbo, beer and Hurricanes he had forced into a rebellious stomach. Paul slid from the
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They didn’t thrill him anymore: the high wire acts, the trapeze artists, the lion tamer tempting death. Nothing about the circus got his juices flowing. The man left in mid-show, walking out into the windy, autumn night. “Where the hell are Bradbury’s October People anyhow?” the man asked out loud with a laugh. ABOUT THE
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