(One of my submissions to the Boise Weekly Fiction 101 contest, 2008.)
Crucified as Peter, black birds tapped and pecked at hollow eyes.
A man stood before him, fag in hand; hot smoke shimmied the air. The sweltered man lacked water, but the man offered him none. His supplies were spent. Ammo low. His revolver rusty.
The man did not speak and the crucified did not listen. They were soldiers—grey clouds amidst a blue sky—one caught; the other, done running.
The man loaded a cartridge and spun the cylinder. He shook as he pressed the barrel against his temple. He kissed the dead man and whispered “Mea Culpa, brother.” then fired.
17 January 2009
Always Tuck your Children in at Night
(One of my submissions to the Boise Weekly Fiction 101 contest, 2008.)
Daddy, come home, I’m scared.
It’s shadows, turn on the lights.
It’s the crack daddy, it’s watching me.
Change rooms, it’ll be all right.
He stopped for milk, a nudie, and beer. Kid was old enough to watch himself now. Jumping at shadows, crying at the dark. He’d never acted like this at that age.
At home the child sat on the grass, door ajar; mosquitoes and moths highway’d in and out.
Why aren’t you inside?
The crack is watching me.
He pointed to the crack, scoffed, scolded and yelled, but dropped the essentials when his gaze met the crack’s stare.
Daddy, come home, I’m scared.
It’s shadows, turn on the lights.
It’s the crack daddy, it’s watching me.
Change rooms, it’ll be all right.
He stopped for milk, a nudie, and beer. Kid was old enough to watch himself now. Jumping at shadows, crying at the dark. He’d never acted like this at that age.
At home the child sat on the grass, door ajar; mosquitoes and moths highway’d in and out.
Why aren’t you inside?
The crack is watching me.
He pointed to the crack, scoffed, scolded and yelled, but dropped the essentials when his gaze met the crack’s stare.
Favors not Forgiven, are Best Forgotten
(One of my submissions to the Boise Weekly Fiction 101 contest, 2008.)
Mother shunned and Heaven repressed, even the Devil took note to step wide. Weren’t of a respect, but a fear of them irons—lightning from his hips, thunder in his hands—smitin’ men quicker than God’s finger; reloading just as fast. The Devil coveted those irons—such power—and in his scheming, sent forth a woman who owed him a favor.
A last night of a man’s weakness—sweet lust—welcomed with outstretched arms. She poisoned his mind with Hemlock and ravaged his body with knives.
To Lucifer she nodded—fingering them irons—a warning so simple; stay outta the way.
Mother shunned and Heaven repressed, even the Devil took note to step wide. Weren’t of a respect, but a fear of them irons—lightning from his hips, thunder in his hands—smitin’ men quicker than God’s finger; reloading just as fast. The Devil coveted those irons—such power—and in his scheming, sent forth a woman who owed him a favor.
A last night of a man’s weakness—sweet lust—welcomed with outstretched arms. She poisoned his mind with Hemlock and ravaged his body with knives.
To Lucifer she nodded—fingering them irons—a warning so simple; stay outta the way.
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