INSTAGRAM MICRO CRIME FICTION
Keep it short, make it nasty...
Follow This Desperate City on Instagram for a new story every Monday.
Follow This Desperate City on Instagram for a new story every Monday.
Volume 4
(September 2016 - December 2016)
Echo
J.J. Sinisi
He felt alone. A city of millions, concrete and asphalt and electricity and society’s filaments strung together, connecting them like an unnatural automaton, a beast stronger than all the little bits living and loving and dying in its heart, Daiki was all of them and yet none of them.
Six days gone and he still missed Fumio, his voice, his screams.
“Ten bucks,” the bouncer said.
Daiki handed him cash, neon colors splintering beneath the damp air’s pressure.
Inside, a swirl of bodies, undulating swells, a single gender’s protest against their mad world.
A young one, wrinkles stalled by optimism, sallied up. Daiki smiled but the boy just twisted towards him, wandering away from the rest like driftwood.
They kissed, salty lips mixed with chemical sting. Daiki could bring him home, he’d know Daiki was a catch, would understand the opportunity presented to him.
It’d be easy. Easier than with Fumio.
Back on the street, the rain had abated but the sky’s bloat collapsed the tops of the buildings. Empty streets mingled with full, and they snaked through the night, hand in hand, lost, consumed by the city’s permanence.
Thirty six stories high, they entered his quiet apartment, light unable to breach the clouds they stood defiantly beside.
“Let me freshen up,” the boy said. He was cute and thin and sexy and all the things Daiki wasn’t and missed about Fumio.
His scream was louder though. Daiki grabbed his knife, remembered the last time he saw Fumio alive, his soul venting from an agape mouth, blood vacating his sliced neck.
The body had been in there since last week. It didn’t even look like Fumio anymore.
It had become so lonely without his cries.
So lonely in silence.
The boy yelled. Daiki blocked the door.
Luckily he wouldn’t be alone for much longer.
END. (304 WORDS)
Six days gone and he still missed Fumio, his voice, his screams.
“Ten bucks,” the bouncer said.
Daiki handed him cash, neon colors splintering beneath the damp air’s pressure.
Inside, a swirl of bodies, undulating swells, a single gender’s protest against their mad world.
A young one, wrinkles stalled by optimism, sallied up. Daiki smiled but the boy just twisted towards him, wandering away from the rest like driftwood.
They kissed, salty lips mixed with chemical sting. Daiki could bring him home, he’d know Daiki was a catch, would understand the opportunity presented to him.
It’d be easy. Easier than with Fumio.
Back on the street, the rain had abated but the sky’s bloat collapsed the tops of the buildings. Empty streets mingled with full, and they snaked through the night, hand in hand, lost, consumed by the city’s permanence.
Thirty six stories high, they entered his quiet apartment, light unable to breach the clouds they stood defiantly beside.
“Let me freshen up,” the boy said. He was cute and thin and sexy and all the things Daiki wasn’t and missed about Fumio.
His scream was louder though. Daiki grabbed his knife, remembered the last time he saw Fumio alive, his soul venting from an agape mouth, blood vacating his sliced neck.
The body had been in there since last week. It didn’t even look like Fumio anymore.
It had become so lonely without his cries.
So lonely in silence.
The boy yelled. Daiki blocked the door.
Luckily he wouldn’t be alone for much longer.
END. (304 WORDS)
Lessons Learned
By J.J. Sinisi
Water splashed, cascading around her ankles, Selma sprinted towards the crosswalk’s shaking red hand. She leapt off the curb. A cab skidded, but above the screeching tires she heard his foot in the same puddle. Greg was gaining.
She thought about her brother Tito, how he told her to leave that depressed white boy, about her mother always fearing the world was out to get her precious children, about her dad and his calloused knuckles.
“Hey, stop!” She heard the accent, knew it was the cabbie and not Greg, sounding like maybe he’d help her, maybe get out of his car and stop that man from chasing that woman. Maybe he was a hero.
She ducked slide long between the two buildings because she knew the cabbie wouldn’t, no champions without risk. Not like Tito, her brother the hero. He was a firefighter and a boxer and had four boys he looked after, and was gay, and worked at the mission and was everything to everyone at all times.
The slimy wall grabbed her loose blouse. She knew it’d come to this. Her entire family had known.
Greg’s breathing, heavy and offbeat with his strides. How many nights she implored him to workout, loose the gut?
He stepped into the alley; she knelt and punched, aligning her fist with her forearm with her shoulder, the way he father and brother had taught her, empowered her.
His soft testicles wrapped around her extended fist, his momentum carrying forward. He fell, scraping his face along the pavement, greasy black hair lost amid dark asphalt.
She could’ve kicked him; instead, she broke his outstretched hand. It didn’t ensure he’d never come after her again, but that was alright. Part of her wanted him to, knew she’d lured him here all along. Tito was the family hero but she had always wanted to be the villain.
END. (311 Words)
She thought about her brother Tito, how he told her to leave that depressed white boy, about her mother always fearing the world was out to get her precious children, about her dad and his calloused knuckles.
“Hey, stop!” She heard the accent, knew it was the cabbie and not Greg, sounding like maybe he’d help her, maybe get out of his car and stop that man from chasing that woman. Maybe he was a hero.
She ducked slide long between the two buildings because she knew the cabbie wouldn’t, no champions without risk. Not like Tito, her brother the hero. He was a firefighter and a boxer and had four boys he looked after, and was gay, and worked at the mission and was everything to everyone at all times.
The slimy wall grabbed her loose blouse. She knew it’d come to this. Her entire family had known.
Greg’s breathing, heavy and offbeat with his strides. How many nights she implored him to workout, loose the gut?
He stepped into the alley; she knelt and punched, aligning her fist with her forearm with her shoulder, the way he father and brother had taught her, empowered her.
His soft testicles wrapped around her extended fist, his momentum carrying forward. He fell, scraping his face along the pavement, greasy black hair lost amid dark asphalt.
She could’ve kicked him; instead, she broke his outstretched hand. It didn’t ensure he’d never come after her again, but that was alright. Part of her wanted him to, knew she’d lured him here all along. Tito was the family hero but she had always wanted to be the villain.
END. (311 Words)
Rainbow River
By J.J. Sinisi
She listened, it would go forever unanswered she thought, the lazy knocking as though someone with nowhere to be happened upon a door no one would ever knock. She had though. The first time he came to her, she answered against her better judgment.
“Let’s go.” Todd nodded at the boat’s keel. “They’ll be gone soon.”
She stepped away from the edge, the rotted wooden planks holding down the ladder.
He looked up at her, steadying the boat against small swells. “It’s okay.” He held out his hand. “One more time, it’s all we need.”
The knocking again, the thump of boats against the dock, or when she first answered that door, his smile, two years gone but other than his scarred eyebrow, Todd’s glory hadn’t lost a moment.
“We said that the last time. But we’ll never have enough, will we Todd?”
He looked pristine, alabaster against the sea’s blue shine. She took his outstretched hand, her dark skin complimenting the thoughts in her head, of failure, of capture, of everything wrong with their love affair with violence.
“This time is different. I told you. We’ve never hunted a whale before, anything this big.”
The engine choked and spat. She reached past the two AR-15s and the three 9 Mils and took the black felt mask. She slid it over her great big curls.
“You don’t need that yet. The yacht is still a half hour from here. They won’t be able to see you coming until we’re right on top of them.”
“It’s not for them.”
Todd shook his head. He mounted the prow, throttling them forward again, breaking the quiet sheen on the water’s surface.
She peered through the jagged holes, dark fabric invading her vision. The sound was gone, replaced now by the bay’s swishing, no one left to answer, no left to knock.
END. (308 Words)
“Let’s go.” Todd nodded at the boat’s keel. “They’ll be gone soon.”
She stepped away from the edge, the rotted wooden planks holding down the ladder.
He looked up at her, steadying the boat against small swells. “It’s okay.” He held out his hand. “One more time, it’s all we need.”
The knocking again, the thump of boats against the dock, or when she first answered that door, his smile, two years gone but other than his scarred eyebrow, Todd’s glory hadn’t lost a moment.
“We said that the last time. But we’ll never have enough, will we Todd?”
He looked pristine, alabaster against the sea’s blue shine. She took his outstretched hand, her dark skin complimenting the thoughts in her head, of failure, of capture, of everything wrong with their love affair with violence.
“This time is different. I told you. We’ve never hunted a whale before, anything this big.”
The engine choked and spat. She reached past the two AR-15s and the three 9 Mils and took the black felt mask. She slid it over her great big curls.
“You don’t need that yet. The yacht is still a half hour from here. They won’t be able to see you coming until we’re right on top of them.”
“It’s not for them.”
Todd shook his head. He mounted the prow, throttling them forward again, breaking the quiet sheen on the water’s surface.
She peered through the jagged holes, dark fabric invading her vision. The sound was gone, replaced now by the bay’s swishing, no one left to answer, no left to knock.
END. (308 Words)
A Mark Left
By J.J. Sinisi
Flailing, failing to grasp a handhold amid the rushing wind and tumbling horizon, I dreamt I had fallen through the floor of an airplane, or that it had disappeared around me, bolt by bolt, forced to watch my reality come undone.
I shook the memory away, dispelling the flapping slipstream. Alice became my tether then, beautiful in her pink sundress.
“You okay?”
I wiped my face. “Yea.”
Far below, outside the cascading glass, tugboats pushed a disabled freighter down the Hudson, its large engines cold and dead.
“Are you ready?”
“No,” I walked away, remembered a time, long past, I’d sit above the city and enjoy a scotch.
The faux oak door opened. The DA will see you now, the clerk said, a small man with a knife sharp nose and round glasses. I detested him.
Alice examined the floor, the way she did when she had failed to color within the lines as a child.
“Go home.”
“No papa.” She turned toward that ever expanding concrete horizon. “I don’t think I could bear this being the last time.”
“It won’t be.” I spared the moment, held her small shoulders. The river had cleared for the freighter. I realized then it was actually a garbage barge, scraping a muddy streak across the river’s surface. The tugs pressed against its sides and the buildings bowed on its flanks, just like a funeral procession.
I kissed Alice’s head.
“I did them.” I whispered into her hair. “These things they’re accusing me of, sometimes this is how things need to happen. I did them all.”
I tried to stay strong for her. It was nice, failing at this last thing with her at my side.
The clerk tapped the door and a last view of her, silhouetted against all that blue, no river and just the tiny peeks of tallest buildings.
END. (308 WORDS)
I shook the memory away, dispelling the flapping slipstream. Alice became my tether then, beautiful in her pink sundress.
“You okay?”
I wiped my face. “Yea.”
Far below, outside the cascading glass, tugboats pushed a disabled freighter down the Hudson, its large engines cold and dead.
“Are you ready?”
“No,” I walked away, remembered a time, long past, I’d sit above the city and enjoy a scotch.
The faux oak door opened. The DA will see you now, the clerk said, a small man with a knife sharp nose and round glasses. I detested him.
Alice examined the floor, the way she did when she had failed to color within the lines as a child.
“Go home.”
“No papa.” She turned toward that ever expanding concrete horizon. “I don’t think I could bear this being the last time.”
“It won’t be.” I spared the moment, held her small shoulders. The river had cleared for the freighter. I realized then it was actually a garbage barge, scraping a muddy streak across the river’s surface. The tugs pressed against its sides and the buildings bowed on its flanks, just like a funeral procession.
I kissed Alice’s head.
“I did them.” I whispered into her hair. “These things they’re accusing me of, sometimes this is how things need to happen. I did them all.”
I tried to stay strong for her. It was nice, failing at this last thing with her at my side.
The clerk tapped the door and a last view of her, silhouetted against all that blue, no river and just the tiny peeks of tallest buildings.
END. (308 WORDS)
Atop the World
By J.J. Sinisi
My lowest? That morning. And she reveled in it, she in the wild orange dress. How could I understand her hatred’s depths, her sadism?
“Isn’t it beautiful up here?”
But I could only see down, asphalt and brick, humanity’s expanding grip.
“My father used to bring me to the top of our hotel over the park. But it was never like this, so high, commanding.”
“Fuck you.” Hope was gone. Not of a savior, that was never a possibility. How could it? This was my doing. You don’t save people still wanting it. Still, though, I always thought I’d be strong enough to break her bonds.
She thought that funny. She thought a great many things funny that I didn’t. Like life, so fascinatingly amusing to her. I hated her for that more than anything.
“All those people. From here, they are one, united; a footprint so large the natural world knows no difference. If only I could entomb the entire world in concrete.”
Red mixed with black, chunky, I guess viscous with mucus or flesh, the blood unraveling like ropes from my mouth. I was beyond struggling. I had fought for her, thought she the answer.
He dragged me to the edge, wind catching knots of my remaining hair, blowing cool across my face.
“You gave me control.” She knelt. I could barely hear her over the furious air. “I asked and you and your kind gave it to me. Now that I’m losing? It isn’t my fault you’re all going down too. Remember that, all the way to the bottom; how high we could’ve been together.”
She pushed and I fell and damn her if she wasn’t right. The concrete rushed up, those little people below suddenly mattering more than I ever thought. Her words echoed. She had flipped me, only a few short months ago. Had I known the price I’d have to pay. Had I known how quick the fall.
End. (324 Words)
“Isn’t it beautiful up here?”
But I could only see down, asphalt and brick, humanity’s expanding grip.
“My father used to bring me to the top of our hotel over the park. But it was never like this, so high, commanding.”
“Fuck you.” Hope was gone. Not of a savior, that was never a possibility. How could it? This was my doing. You don’t save people still wanting it. Still, though, I always thought I’d be strong enough to break her bonds.
She thought that funny. She thought a great many things funny that I didn’t. Like life, so fascinatingly amusing to her. I hated her for that more than anything.
“All those people. From here, they are one, united; a footprint so large the natural world knows no difference. If only I could entomb the entire world in concrete.”
Red mixed with black, chunky, I guess viscous with mucus or flesh, the blood unraveling like ropes from my mouth. I was beyond struggling. I had fought for her, thought she the answer.
He dragged me to the edge, wind catching knots of my remaining hair, blowing cool across my face.
“You gave me control.” She knelt. I could barely hear her over the furious air. “I asked and you and your kind gave it to me. Now that I’m losing? It isn’t my fault you’re all going down too. Remember that, all the way to the bottom; how high we could’ve been together.”
She pushed and I fell and damn her if she wasn’t right. The concrete rushed up, those little people below suddenly mattering more than I ever thought. Her words echoed. She had flipped me, only a few short months ago. Had I known the price I’d have to pay. Had I known how quick the fall.
End. (324 Words)
Master of Puppets
by J.J. Sinisi
“My son,” the priest said from the alter, raising his voice over the passing trains outside. “Can I help you? Mass is long over.”
I genuflected, slid into a pew.
Though his peculiar eyes peered, he soon walked the runner towards me.
“He’s coming for me, for justice,” I said.
“There is only one who commands justice.”
“If that were true.”
The train abated but static city ambiance rattled the stained glass.
“What troubles you?”
The priest was neither old nor young. In him I saw myself, decisions bringing him into the service of another.
“Loyalty.” I told him. “And my lack of it.”
“I met someone once,” he began. A line etched a concerned crease into his forehead. “A waiter, for a very nice restaurant. A waiter all his life.”
I pulled closed my overcoat, adjusted the strap beneath my arm and the heavy metal thing dragging it down.
“He had grown tired of demands, so he quit.” He clapped his hands clean, like Pontius Pilate, the sound echoing throughout the empty hall.
The church doors creaked. I didn’t turn. I knew who it was. But the priest kept through his story. Did he know?
“He returned only days later,” he continued, “because, the waiter said, it wasn’t their demands that had exhausted him, it was his own expectations. He only understood this after he left.”
We both heard it then, metal sliding against metal, death’s loyal supplicant cocking into place.
The priest looked down the barrel of his nose, closing the distance until we nearly touched. “We all serve, my son. Yet, it is only in the silence of selfishness that we truly understand who our masters are.”
I relaxed across the stern arrows of his gaze.
I knew the first shots would miss then. Not because I had decided to serve another, but because I no longer served myself.
The rest would sort itself out, one bullet at a time.
END. (323 Words)
I genuflected, slid into a pew.
Though his peculiar eyes peered, he soon walked the runner towards me.
“He’s coming for me, for justice,” I said.
“There is only one who commands justice.”
“If that were true.”
The train abated but static city ambiance rattled the stained glass.
“What troubles you?”
The priest was neither old nor young. In him I saw myself, decisions bringing him into the service of another.
“Loyalty.” I told him. “And my lack of it.”
“I met someone once,” he began. A line etched a concerned crease into his forehead. “A waiter, for a very nice restaurant. A waiter all his life.”
I pulled closed my overcoat, adjusted the strap beneath my arm and the heavy metal thing dragging it down.
“He had grown tired of demands, so he quit.” He clapped his hands clean, like Pontius Pilate, the sound echoing throughout the empty hall.
The church doors creaked. I didn’t turn. I knew who it was. But the priest kept through his story. Did he know?
“He returned only days later,” he continued, “because, the waiter said, it wasn’t their demands that had exhausted him, it was his own expectations. He only understood this after he left.”
We both heard it then, metal sliding against metal, death’s loyal supplicant cocking into place.
The priest looked down the barrel of his nose, closing the distance until we nearly touched. “We all serve, my son. Yet, it is only in the silence of selfishness that we truly understand who our masters are.”
I relaxed across the stern arrows of his gaze.
I knew the first shots would miss then. Not because I had decided to serve another, but because I no longer served myself.
The rest would sort itself out, one bullet at a time.
END. (323 Words)
Foe
By J.J. Sinisi
To have ever called him my enemy seemed misguided now. He was never evil. I was never good. Real life doesn’t ascribe to binary dualities. In the cold, frost splintering little webs across the bars atop the building, I realized his challenge, the way he pressed, manipulated.
“To the top,” he said. I followed through the abandoned stairwell, paint scribbled along cavernous walls, incoherence, blues on reds on blacks, like my thoughts, shattered as I watched him from behind, envy and malice growing with each step.
“I’ve never been this high,” I said, not sure if I meant the altitude or the drugs.
“Almost there now.”
Popping the service door, pigeons flapped away into the cold morning blue.
“I have something to show you.” And he led me to the water tower, wooden legs spindly and frail, shingles atop, anachronistic to the cars below, invisible computer waves, did people still get their water from the sky?
“There.” He motioned to the ladder’s metal enclosure, the top of neighborhood.
“I don’t want to go.”
“You have to.”
He was both right and wrong. It was why I hated him. Forced between bad choices, a friend would’ve guided, a parent protected. He was only one of those and acted like neither.
But he wasn’t my nemesis. It only felt like that at the time.
I climbed, watched him shrink. The bars were cold and I had no gloves, no protection.
My sneakers sounded along the metal. He circled below, stalking me like a panther.
No. A nemesis implied singular focus against only me. Unsurprising I would think him that then though, his importance to my life, or more appropriately, his absence.
The summit, I listened to the creaks, the tower’s obstinate sounds, it knew I wasn’t supposed to be there either.
“There.” He pointed.
I looked down, at the blood, at the maimed pigeon’s body, pinned between the grate by nails, eviscerated by a knife.
He laughed.
He laughed so hard I thought he may throw up.
I looked at the sad thing; sure it had been gutted while still breathing. I knew the feeling.
I pulled my cans from my pants. Went about tagging. He kept laughing and laughing.
Three letters. I had hoped they’d bestow reflection in him. I was a fool. He would never know my implication. He wasn’t my rival, my adversary. He wasn’t unique. How I wished he were something more, but he was as common as was I.
Just one of many.
Just a simple foe.
END. (419)
“To the top,” he said. I followed through the abandoned stairwell, paint scribbled along cavernous walls, incoherence, blues on reds on blacks, like my thoughts, shattered as I watched him from behind, envy and malice growing with each step.
“I’ve never been this high,” I said, not sure if I meant the altitude or the drugs.
“Almost there now.”
Popping the service door, pigeons flapped away into the cold morning blue.
“I have something to show you.” And he led me to the water tower, wooden legs spindly and frail, shingles atop, anachronistic to the cars below, invisible computer waves, did people still get their water from the sky?
“There.” He motioned to the ladder’s metal enclosure, the top of neighborhood.
“I don’t want to go.”
“You have to.”
He was both right and wrong. It was why I hated him. Forced between bad choices, a friend would’ve guided, a parent protected. He was only one of those and acted like neither.
But he wasn’t my nemesis. It only felt like that at the time.
I climbed, watched him shrink. The bars were cold and I had no gloves, no protection.
My sneakers sounded along the metal. He circled below, stalking me like a panther.
No. A nemesis implied singular focus against only me. Unsurprising I would think him that then though, his importance to my life, or more appropriately, his absence.
The summit, I listened to the creaks, the tower’s obstinate sounds, it knew I wasn’t supposed to be there either.
“There.” He pointed.
I looked down, at the blood, at the maimed pigeon’s body, pinned between the grate by nails, eviscerated by a knife.
He laughed.
He laughed so hard I thought he may throw up.
I looked at the sad thing; sure it had been gutted while still breathing. I knew the feeling.
I pulled my cans from my pants. Went about tagging. He kept laughing and laughing.
Three letters. I had hoped they’d bestow reflection in him. I was a fool. He would never know my implication. He wasn’t my rival, my adversary. He wasn’t unique. How I wished he were something more, but he was as common as was I.
Just one of many.
Just a simple foe.
END. (419)
Last Time
By J.J. Sinisi
The cops rolled beneath the skywalk. January in Minneapolis, it wouldn’t be the last snowfall.
“Let’s run for it.”
“No.” I held Gerry’s chest, large and lumpy. I almost hadn’t brought him, muscles too big, not enough space to tape the cash.
“C’mon man.”
“You want this to go south? Then keep flappn’ in my face.”
The car stopped. A pair of patrolmen emerged, the driver’s skin so dark I had trouble seeing him.
Gerry pulled his gun.
“Put that shit away.”
“Let’s blast ‘em when they come under.”
I shifted the cash stacks strapped to my torso, grabbed my piece. I thought I had already fired it for the last time.
Three weeks prior I was an accountant. Two weeks before that, I realized an opportunity. Gerry and I differed there. He’s that cousin, life’s outer layer. Our first stint in juvy for robbery, his idea. Thirteen year olds in a gas station, brilliant. I said then, it’d be the last time. But Gerry had a way.
Glinting, the morning sunlight jumped off their badges, sliced my eye. Gerry aimed. I pushed down his gun.
“Now.” He whispered even though we were two stories up and encased in glass, cops couldn’t hear us.
They lingered, shining bald heads, one white one black. An easy shot.
A last look at Gerry, that crazy glint.
Shit.
It was all I had time to think, then his gun fired, the glass floor shattered and I fell, saw him safely squatting on the next stanchion.
Twisting, I noticed his gleaming white smile, happiness, that he’d probably get away, that even if I survived I wouldn’t be able to say much, and probably, that I’d be dead.
Maybe the cash would cushion my fall; maybe I wouldn’t land on the cops. All these, my last thoughts, and now I think nothing.
END. (307 Words)
“Let’s run for it.”
“No.” I held Gerry’s chest, large and lumpy. I almost hadn’t brought him, muscles too big, not enough space to tape the cash.
“C’mon man.”
“You want this to go south? Then keep flappn’ in my face.”
The car stopped. A pair of patrolmen emerged, the driver’s skin so dark I had trouble seeing him.
Gerry pulled his gun.
“Put that shit away.”
“Let’s blast ‘em when they come under.”
I shifted the cash stacks strapped to my torso, grabbed my piece. I thought I had already fired it for the last time.
Three weeks prior I was an accountant. Two weeks before that, I realized an opportunity. Gerry and I differed there. He’s that cousin, life’s outer layer. Our first stint in juvy for robbery, his idea. Thirteen year olds in a gas station, brilliant. I said then, it’d be the last time. But Gerry had a way.
Glinting, the morning sunlight jumped off their badges, sliced my eye. Gerry aimed. I pushed down his gun.
“Now.” He whispered even though we were two stories up and encased in glass, cops couldn’t hear us.
They lingered, shining bald heads, one white one black. An easy shot.
A last look at Gerry, that crazy glint.
Shit.
It was all I had time to think, then his gun fired, the glass floor shattered and I fell, saw him safely squatting on the next stanchion.
Twisting, I noticed his gleaming white smile, happiness, that he’d probably get away, that even if I survived I wouldn’t be able to say much, and probably, that I’d be dead.
Maybe the cash would cushion my fall; maybe I wouldn’t land on the cops. All these, my last thoughts, and now I think nothing.
END. (307 Words)
All the Beautiful People
By J.J. Sinisi
“It wasn’t pretty,” De’von says.
I linger at the window, hoping for what? A glimpse? One last peak, watch her like I watched the undertow as a child, the tide rushing away the before.
Had I seen her, drunken and slovenly, I may have felt differently, remembered the times she fled. But trapped within the prison of my memories she isn’t ever anything short of immaculate; beautiful, a trait I usually attribute to weakness.
But not with Kate.
Below the walkway, the cabs disappear, passengers fleeing Atlantic City, the grime I long ago embraced. So had Kate, once, when we were happy.
The radiating club casts more than light down the hall, dispersions really. Liar, it says. She couldn’t take you anymore, the truth mocking me in my brandy’s bass pounded ripples.
Back inside, De’von waits. He can’t afford his suits, stole his cufflinks, borrowed his orange tie and never gave it back. De’von is popular. Dark skin uniform and placid; his smile is a wide crevasse hiding shiny teeth waiting in ambush to disarm misguided stares. De’von is beautiful.
He slaps my hand. “You say good bye?”
“Never saw her.”
“Shit.”
De’von doesn’t care that she’s left again, only that I didn’t see her so low. But he’s mistaken. Every time I see Kate it’s at her lowest, because every time I see Kate she drags me to mine.
The bouncers grab a pair of drunken kids; roughly fling them through the door. I sidestep. They pat me on the back. Teddy and Bancroft, good men. Teddy slept with Kate too. Before me. Teddy passed me a warning I didn’t heed.
I’m handed a clipboard, numbers, names, the duties of a manager. Work melts away all the beautiful people. A step inside the paper’s black ink, I lose my footing and all is lost.
END. (305 Words)
I linger at the window, hoping for what? A glimpse? One last peak, watch her like I watched the undertow as a child, the tide rushing away the before.
Had I seen her, drunken and slovenly, I may have felt differently, remembered the times she fled. But trapped within the prison of my memories she isn’t ever anything short of immaculate; beautiful, a trait I usually attribute to weakness.
But not with Kate.
Below the walkway, the cabs disappear, passengers fleeing Atlantic City, the grime I long ago embraced. So had Kate, once, when we were happy.
The radiating club casts more than light down the hall, dispersions really. Liar, it says. She couldn’t take you anymore, the truth mocking me in my brandy’s bass pounded ripples.
Back inside, De’von waits. He can’t afford his suits, stole his cufflinks, borrowed his orange tie and never gave it back. De’von is popular. Dark skin uniform and placid; his smile is a wide crevasse hiding shiny teeth waiting in ambush to disarm misguided stares. De’von is beautiful.
He slaps my hand. “You say good bye?”
“Never saw her.”
“Shit.”
De’von doesn’t care that she’s left again, only that I didn’t see her so low. But he’s mistaken. Every time I see Kate it’s at her lowest, because every time I see Kate she drags me to mine.
The bouncers grab a pair of drunken kids; roughly fling them through the door. I sidestep. They pat me on the back. Teddy and Bancroft, good men. Teddy slept with Kate too. Before me. Teddy passed me a warning I didn’t heed.
I’m handed a clipboard, numbers, names, the duties of a manager. Work melts away all the beautiful people. A step inside the paper’s black ink, I lose my footing and all is lost.
END. (305 Words)
Reign
By J.J. Sinisi
It’s not the betrayal; Aubrey tells herself again, an unceasing mantra she cannot subvert. She just needs Juana, know she survives. But her thoughts twist amid the Upper East Side rain drops, conspiring to undermine her actions.
What if Juana is gone, erased, stricken from reality? Who’s to tell the consequences?
“We’re here,” Tina calls back.
“Don’t come out,” Aubrey instructs her, hefting the bag from her lap.
Sunlight breaks between far away bricks, above, roiling gray clouds. Alejandra stands beneath the awning.
“What’s that?” Alejandra asks.
“Double.”
Alejandra laughs, a pattering thing lost in the drizzle. “I told you everything. They haven’t been back.”
Aubrey throws the bag and the broken zipper opens the flaps. Cash bubbles up.
“Last chance.”
Alejandra steps off the stoop, rainfall tapping her precise curls. She is smaller by a head, but her pronounced chin and stiff nose shorten the distance to Aubrey’s face.
“You are as stupid as her. I said before, so I will say again, that squealing little bitch is gone.”
Aubrey didn’t intend for her hand to clasp Alejandra’s neck this fast, squeeze this hard. She can let go of course, when the squeaking air recedes, relent when Alejandra’s nails draw blood from her wrist. But did this woman protect Juana? Of course not. Only Aubrey can protect Juana.
“I don’t …” Alejandra struggles between breaths.
“Care anymore?”
Beyond, the struggling sun fades into a dense haze. Soon the rain begins anew, blanketing the body.
“How’d it go?” Tina asks when she sits back down in the car.
“Not well.” Aubrey places the bag and closes the door. “Things will be different now.”
Tina’s sultry green eyes bounce back through the rearview. “How long can you keep this up, cariño?”
“As long as it takes.” She wipes away the blood. “As long as it takes.”
END. (305 Words)
What if Juana is gone, erased, stricken from reality? Who’s to tell the consequences?
“We’re here,” Tina calls back.
“Don’t come out,” Aubrey instructs her, hefting the bag from her lap.
Sunlight breaks between far away bricks, above, roiling gray clouds. Alejandra stands beneath the awning.
“What’s that?” Alejandra asks.
“Double.”
Alejandra laughs, a pattering thing lost in the drizzle. “I told you everything. They haven’t been back.”
Aubrey throws the bag and the broken zipper opens the flaps. Cash bubbles up.
“Last chance.”
Alejandra steps off the stoop, rainfall tapping her precise curls. She is smaller by a head, but her pronounced chin and stiff nose shorten the distance to Aubrey’s face.
“You are as stupid as her. I said before, so I will say again, that squealing little bitch is gone.”
Aubrey didn’t intend for her hand to clasp Alejandra’s neck this fast, squeeze this hard. She can let go of course, when the squeaking air recedes, relent when Alejandra’s nails draw blood from her wrist. But did this woman protect Juana? Of course not. Only Aubrey can protect Juana.
“I don’t …” Alejandra struggles between breaths.
“Care anymore?”
Beyond, the struggling sun fades into a dense haze. Soon the rain begins anew, blanketing the body.
“How’d it go?” Tina asks when she sits back down in the car.
“Not well.” Aubrey places the bag and closes the door. “Things will be different now.”
Tina’s sultry green eyes bounce back through the rearview. “How long can you keep this up, cariño?”
“As long as it takes.” She wipes away the blood. “As long as it takes.”
END. (305 Words)