29 Langwood Street
The first time I saw her, I almost tripped over my feet and introduced my nose to the pavement. Not because she was beautiful–who could tell from the back of her head like that?–but because she occupied my bench. My bench. I glanced down the esplanade toward the seasonal businesses where the heady aroma of corn dogs and popcorn saturated the early summer breeze and enticed evening strollers to the waterfront. Plenty of benches sat empty there. No one had ever wanted to exchange the excitement of carnival rides and arcade games for the view of a bridge and some birds. No one except me. I get my fill of people at work every day. Moments of solitude on my bench are golden. Read more …
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Dancing Man
I first saw him dancing outside the diner.
Elbows out, coat flapping in the winter wind, arms wide in invitation, his dazzling smile lit up the night. Shoppers on the busy avenue flowed around his gyrations like leaves skirting a whirlpool’s suction, diverted from their paths the bare minimum required to avoid eye contact or, heaven forbid, conversation with a lunatic. Dancing Man never noticed. His exuberance repelled the sting of apathy. Read more…
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Deer In Headlights
The northbound stretch of Route 39 snakes through upstate mountains on a labyrinthine path through old-growth forest, thick with trees which are said to have stood before Erikson set a toe aground in Newfoundland. It’s beautiful country: rugged and unforgiving, packed with breathtaking vistas across green gorges, their walls striped with layered minerals, a geological clock I’ve learned to read.
Those stripes brought me here. They kept me here for months. And now they are about to make me famous.
I pluck my phone from the console and check the signal. One bar. I might get lucky. I touch redial and listen, tongue on the roof of my mouth, for any sign of a connection. Ahead, the road twists right, then left, around turns blind even in broad daylight. It’s nearly midnight now, with the moon a sliver that does little to aid navigation. I want to press harder on the gas. Instead, I tap the steering wheel with one broken, dirty nail.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter at the phone. After a minute, I glance at the screen again. No signal.
“Damnit.” I thumb the screen to sleep and drop it in the console, then shift my attention back to the road.
The gleam of eyes in my high beams throws my heart into overdrive. Read more…
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Endless Potential
They always find me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my profession. But it’d be nice to have an occasional drink in peace. Disguises don’t help. My skin is brown this time, my eyes grey like my hair. Still, he knows me.
He sits on the next barstool, orders a beer. Read more…
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Home Sweet Home
I’ve had it with Eric. He’s pushed my last button. Twisted my last lock. Slammed my last door. His praise overflowed when he first bought me. “Look at my beautiful condo!” he tweeted, posting photos on Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr while I held a steady internet connection so he wouldn’t have to repost later. I thought it was love at first sight for him, like it was for me. Read more…
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Jane Doe #7
Three Months Ago
Kyle fought the urge to fidget and stilled his hands on the arms of his chair. The two project liaisons, Simone and Ellis, held his future. It wouldn’t do to let them see how nervous he was.
“Project growth has outstripped our ability to meet demand,” Kyle said. “Twenty-six new clients signed on today.”
“So?” Simone said. “Add them to the waitlist.”
“That’s already months long.” Kyle glanced at Ellis. “I thought you were going to talk to her.”
Ellis stopped pacing and stared at his colleagues.
“Talk to me about what?” Simone said. Read more…
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Late December
I open my eyes to confusion and burning discomfort. Carpet stretches from my nose to the shelving unit, fuzzy without my glasses. All my furniture slants at an unexpected ninety-degree angle. What in the…
A silvertone bar juts into the edge of my view. Oh. That. My aluminum walker. The one that sticks when it should slide and slides when it should stick. Lina warned me to get one with wheels and hand brakes. I’ll never hear the end of it when she finds me.
Again. Read more…
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Muzi’s Boon
I was an old woman when our elders killed Bajhan.
Even so, I remembered my first Flowering. My ama and I rose before the sun and walked the long road to Bajhan. Ama sang the story of the festival and of Liyan, a gaiad who rose from the Earth to bestow abundance on our people. She showed me the dance steps there, on the path wet from night rains. She sang of the magic of the Flowering, of the work that would ensue, of the villagers who traveled from all around our region to see Liyan. She explained the lottery to select those lucky few who, once and only once in their lives, could petition Liyan for favors.
Bajhan still lay in torchlit darkness when we arrived. Read more…
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Switch
Jello smacked Benny in the back of the head, stray droplets splattering in orange beads that jiggled against the inside of his glasses. Benny gasped and spun, almost losing his tray, to face his assailant. Stupid brat! The boy pointed, laughing, while his mother shook a finger.
“Now Philip, I told you not to throw your food,” the brat’s mother chided.
Gobbets of goo oozed through Benny’s thick brown hair and dribbled beneath his collar to slide in sticky trails down his back. He ground his teeth, ignoring the cacophony of a mad Friday night, and stared daggers at table six before taking two steps toward the boy seated there. Read more…
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Upshot
My first arrow slices the air in silent uphill flight to pierce my target’s throat, and I nock another shaft. Wet gurgling sounds fill the space between us. His upraised hands flutter like a naavi’ at his wound, but my tip paste works fast. He staggers, turns, falls before he spies his killer. I walk toward him, ready to loose if he twitches. When I am close enough, I can see he won’t move again.
A bird thrashes in the net above my head. This one’s a male, its frantic calls lost in the sound of my own coughing. I shoulder the bow and pull my knife, then step onto the body to reach the net. Greedy bastards. We could not stop the soldiers when they burned our villages, butchered our animals, stole our land, enslaved or killed our people. Now thieves come for our beautiful quetzals or their feathers. Enough. This I can fight. Read more…
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