KEEP THE FAITH

The Houston Literary Review (July 2010)

. . . They think I’ve gone mad, but it’s not true.  It’s because I can sense something they cannot.  What they are merely able to imagine, -- clumsy, distorted, childish imaginings --, I can almost touch . . .

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Fiction
ONE-TWO PUNCH

Fiction At Work (October 2010)

. . . She was so happy, and the nine-year-old boy reacted happily as well.  The emotional expectations of his mother never brooked even a soupçon of denial.  If he denied anything emotionally, she would know.  Besides, he was still of the age when a boy instinctively absorbs the joys of his mother with a visceral lack of circumspection . . . .

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A LOOK AT FANTASY

Magnolia's Press (October 2010)

. . . Page grew intense.  The waiter was nowhere to be seen, and her coffee was cold.  She drew herself up into a stare.
“How about this?  Here’s an idea for Chad.  Tell him when he meets the next media exec, it’s okay with you if he does the lightsaber thing.”
“What the hell’s the lightsaber thing?”
“He’ll know.  Believe me, they all do.”
“They all do what?”
Page became conspiratorial.
“You know what they do.  They just don’t let anyone else see it.”
“Their lightsabers?”
“Their lightsaber battles.  When Chad gets in there with Mister Chair Man, they’ll do what all men do when no one is watching them.” . . .

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A ROTTING SHADE

The Final Draft (November 2010)

  . . . Relieved at this reprieve, he began to notice the details of the room.  At once, he understood what the Captain meant by the nudge.  This was the house-of-horrors part: a few skulls on a side table, some bones in glass casings and several odd lampshades.  Frau Kasner pointed to one and explained. 
      “All of these come from the inmates right here at Bollander,” she pronounced in a voice laden with satisfaction.  “I hand pick the candidates based on the most vivid coloring, intricate detail and, of course, age.”
      Pietro focused on the design more closely. 
      “Elasticity is of preeminent importance to avoid tearing during the stretching and molding process.  Youth has to be a primary consideration.  And you have to maintain these with oils to prevent drying.”
      One of their party coughed uncomfortably.  The young Italian took a step closer and peered around the shoulder of a German diplomat. 
      “Most are Slavs and gypsies, though occasionally we find a renegade Jew.”
      “Do you mean to say that these are tattoos?” the old Colonel asked with incredulity. 
      “Yes, tattoos,” Frau Kasner replied cheerfully.  “Some of them are rather elaborate.” . . .

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THE DUMP AT SANTA CRUZ

The Houston Literary Review (December 2010 - Print Edition)

. . . my best guess was that, if successful, I’d end up penning a monograph that was moderately well-received by a committee and then sell twelve copies.  Of these, ten would be purchased by myself, one by a mistaken click at Amazon Print On Demand and the last by a dreary-eyed librarian at Butt Ass State University . . . .

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THE LOCKS OF ENCHANTMENT

Bards and Sages Quarterly (April 2011 - Print Edition)

. . . The crew, some quite venerable, had made sick many times in and about the stationed buckets.  Endless rolling and the sinister machinations of demons overhead had unsettled everyone, and when the Captain’s order came to man the deck, we were relieved to escape our stew of stench and fright.  When I emerged from the ladder, my lungs ingested the spicy air like the last meal of a man sentenced to the gallows next morn.
“Bleedin’ bells on a barmaid’s bum,” old Jensen declared.
“Will you look at that?” affirmed a swarthy gunner beside him.
“Aye,” another added.  “Don’t suppose any of these lads are like to get any wenchin’ done now.” . . .

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THE NEEDLE

Bewildering Stories (December 2010)

. . . Ezra was nearly shaking from the heat.  He could no longer see the hill where the discussion had taken place.  His view was a yellow tangle of sand and dunes and dirty wind that stung wherever his robes did not cover.
     “What did He tell them?  Please?”  The pleading tone carried much anguish.
     “Very well.  If He left a way open, I shall not be the one who bars you from taking it if you can.”  The teacher’s expression became grave, and he continued more slowly.  “What he told his disciples was ‘it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God.’  So take your needle then, if you wish it, child.  As you may see, your camel is beside you.” . . .

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SEED OF THE SLAV

Danse Macabre (November 2010)

  . . . She had always noticed how men watched her, with eyes that belied the indifference of their talk.  Her husband had once watched her like that.  Many men still did.  For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel even a slice of pride in it.
“He wants you to stay the night with him.”
There it was, the naked fact.  She felt raw and insulted.
“What?  That’s crazy!  I don’t sleep with Slavs.”  The last word seethed with a visceral contempt.  “Herr Hensen,” she added almost as an afterthought, “I’m married.”
“You don’t understand, Christa.”  The Mayor was growing impassioned.  “If you don’t go, and go to him willingly, Captain Rolovsky says he will kill every man, woman and child in the church.” . . .

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THE WRAITH

Yellow Mama (June 2011)

. . . As it turns out, the cold, stony fortress of mortality has cracks behind the façade.  You won’t find anything in reality that would even come close to preparing you for those cracks.  You have no idea.  Nobody does.  Nobody can, no one except for me that is.  I am the only one I ever met who really and truly cheated death.  Make no mistake, death killed me sure enough, but the bitch of it is, I didn’t actually die from it . . .
THE LIMIT

The Missing Slate (January 2011)

. . . His father thought he was lazy, and of course that was true.  But it was not the kind of laziness of lounging about on the couch all weekend, drinking beer and watching sports.  Indeed, that was exactly the kind of laziness the old man would have understood.  It was the kind of thing that could be tolerated, a form of normalcy that was at least manly.  That alone might have lent a chance that the two could have come to terms with one another on a patch of common ground.  As it was, Aaron found in the empty bed a vacuity that reminded him of the relationship itself.
He noticed a box of cigarettes nearby on the floor and picked it up.  A quick shake determined three or four souls had remained, wayward tenants clinging together inside their black paper hovel.  A plastic lighter had to be somewhere in the neighborhood.  When he found it, Aaron lit a cigarette and pondered again the betrayals of a generation . . .

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THE LAST MARBLE

The Louisiana Review (April 2011 - Print Edition)

. . . I scurried backwards and felt my eyebrow.  It was bleeding.  At first I thought I was seeing things, but after I rubbed the blood out of my eye, I could see Will was crying.  Actually it was more like sobbing.
     I’m not trying to pass myself off as especially nice or kind or anything like that.  It’s just that I knew he didn’t really hate me.  So I went over and knelt beside him.  I put my hand on his shoulder and told him it was going to be alright.  I mean I had no idea what the problem was or if was really going to be alright. 
    The thing is, sometimes you have to lie to your friends in a way.  You don’t mean any harm by it.  You just want them to know that they’re not alone.  And Will was my friend.  At least he had been . . .

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THE THREE QUESTIONS OF LOVE

Speech Bubble Magazine (March 2011)

. . . On the third sunrise, the priestesses admitted Milos into the inner chambers of the Oracle at Delphi.  The moment of resolution had arrived at last.  After a number of complicated rituals and whispered invocations, the virginal servants of the gods closed their eyes.
     Milos, who had remained quiet during these otherworldly proceedings, thought the women might have been resting as if before some more significant event.  He shifted his feet awkwardly.  His estimate put the women in that trance, completely motionless and with eyes gently shut to the world, for nearly two hours. 
      Suddenly one of them rose from the ground and shuffled herself in gliding motions until she stood just before him.
     “Heed the word of the gods, and all will be well with you.  Ignore it, and your life will unravel and wither.  We must ask you again, do you agree to the bargain forged from the skies above, to keep forever silent about what is now to be spoken?” . . .