"What'll it be?"
"Jack."
"Want ice."
"No."
The bartender pours the brown liquid into a tumbler. I wait patiently.
"First time here?"
"No."
I take a swig and end up downing the whole glass. I point down at the empty vessel. He answers my request.
"Funny, I don't remember seeing you come in here before."
The place was a empty. It was late on a Tuesday, understandable why there wasn't a crowd in here. The lights were dim and mahogany colored bar reflected what little light it could find.
"Yeah, it was a couple of months ago."
I point again....
It was the leaded glass crystal, fluted sides, a stem as delicate as a lily. She filled it halfway, she didn't want to be greedy.
"Is that all you're having?" Her mother had just poured her glass up to the rim and was now walking awkwardly across the room, trying not to spill it.
"I like the way it looks in the glass."
Her mother sat down on the couch and slurped. "That's why I like these glasses. They look good no matter what you put in them."
She paused behind the couch, behind her mother, and took a sip....
"I hate her." He spit his words, I knew the taste of her still rested on his tongue, and he gave everything he had to saying those three words with such a vile tone. "Listen, I think maybe this time you guys should-" "No." The way he looked at me, at first with anger, and now with the confused sadness I had once felt a few months back, I felt heartbroken for him. "Maybe it didn't work out because.. maybe it didn't work out because I was still in love with someone else." I know it sounds stupid, and corny,...
I lost my grip on the wheel. It had happened before, but it wasn't nearly as embarrassing as now. I had just left P.E. with a friend of mine, rolling up the steep hill from the gym toward the vocational building. As usual, I made my slow way up that hill, my forearms and biceps flexing as I pushed my wheelchair, struggling but too proud to ask for help.
Then, again as usual, I approached the next decline, a cement hill with a white awning over it. With a grin, I pushed down and let go. As usual. But, then...
Absent. Gone gone gone, baby gone. She's gone again. She's away. She's fled, she's left the scene. She's vanished. You want to call the cops, hire a bounty hunter, marshal the town, grab the pitchforks, light the torches, whatever it takes, to drag her back. You would do so much, you know you would.
It's the future you can't get a hold of. You know the past and you want to scratch the eyes out of the present, but you don't want to see what's ahead. Just bring her home. This is all. Anything now, you'll do anything. Come back....
The people in the cafe continued talking as I stood to look at the door. Still not here. I glanced at my watch. Dash it all, I was going to be late to my meeting. He would not be getting dinner tonight, oh no. My husband wasn't one for standing me up, though...whatever. He's not here, and I have to go. I walked out of the cafe, jogging down the stairs and out. What I saw I will never forget. My husband's car and another one in flames down the street, an obvious car crash. My heart stopped then started...
The letter was an important one. The boy knew that much. His mother didn't send much correspondence. In fact, she had to explain where the mailbox was at first. The boy had never been sent there. He had merely observed it in his daily comings and goings, placing no more significance on it than on the tree down the street from it or the fence alongside it.
His mother patiently explained where to find the mailbox and exactly what to do to ensure the letter was delivered. He clutched the letter close to his heart as he walked down the...
Wine. The only way I can escape. The bitter taste of beer and harsh sting of liquour, far too much for me to handle. So I drink wine.
The man has been watching me for a while now. The one with no face. There names for him on the internet, there are stories, and jokes.
But there are few believers.
So I keep to myself. When I'm not drinking wine, I search for answers, but that often makes things worse. The more I read, the more real it seems, although to everyone else he is just a story.
I thought...
"Avery," she said, eyes flashing, "Avery, Avery."
I held the snake in my hands. "I need to take care of it. It's lonely."
"Animals belong in the outdoors, not in kindergarten."
"Then I belong in the outdoors, too!"
"Avery, if you continue this for one moment longer –"
"Don't worry," I whispered, almost to myself. "Flora will get you. Flora will get you."
She came a few minutes later, rage flickering on and off in her pale face. "What's all this?"
Miss Duncan glared. "Your sister brought a snake into a kindergarten classroom."
"What the bloody –"
"Flora!" I yelped....
The bully grabbed me and Billy by the collar. He started dragging us in the direction of what looked like a soccer goal, but had strange metal bars around it. It seemed as if there was already someone in there.
"Get in there, Squirts!" Chase growled. He kicked us in the goal like a soccer ball, except we didn't score him any points.
"So you're here too, I see. What did you do to him?" The strange girl said. "My name is Lara. I didn't give Chase my money when he asked. I should've just given it to him." She...