FEATURE
Decorum
It all started when I sat on the bench.
It wasn’t an unusual day. The sky was the same decadent shade of sherbet and ice as always after dinner—a glimmering, figure-friendly, visual dessert—and a group of incredibly chatty girls from the college on the next block was standing at the corner on my right, giddily giggling while waiting for the cyclist who always rode by at this time to whizz past so they could saunter across the street before good, old bus 63B slowly chugged on up and blocked their way, two minutes late per usual. The elderly man Ernesto with the fruit stand directly across me finished packing ten minutes ago, and as soon as he hopped on that steel beast now creeping to a stop, his side of the street would be empty ‘til dawn.
So, nothing unusual at all. Just another city twilight—another too-short break before settling into the long hours of work ahead.
ALL STORIES
TO GO HOME
Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh!
“Whah! Huh?”
Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh!
What? Oh…
Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh! Duh!
“Hold on! I’m coming!”
Groggy, irritable, and confused, I stood from the rickety, creaking rocking chair and moved through the pitch-blackness to the door, scolding myself for not leaving on a light. But who knew I’d sleep all day? At least the house was empty, for if things were in their usual disorder, with toys and books scattered all about, I definitely would’ve tripped.
Another impatient knock, and I finally reached the door, then grumpily slid it open. A thin, teenage boy in a worn, khaki shirt and dusty, black trousers stood before me.
“Breaking news, Ma’am. Would you like to buy a paper?”
“Breaking news? You woke me for that?”
Annoyed, I started shutting the entry, but he swiftly shook his head and continued talking, shoving his bony arm in the gap to force it back open.
“No, Ma’am. Look.”
Mayellite
“Binita…”
…
“Binita.”
…
“Binita!”
…
…
“BINIIITA!”
Strained hisses straining hard to not break their whisper… Desperate… He was so desperate… Desperately trying to rouse my response… Desperation was the new world, but no matter how desperate you got, nothing changed. Ever. Nope. Desperation never changed a thing. Pleading, begging, hoping, hissing—nothing desperate mattered. This was our fate, and nothing changed fate, especially not desperation.
INSPECTOR OLEUS DUPREE AND THE MISSING IRA HOYT
Wheeeeeeeew…
The whipping wind viciously howled, its dagger-like nails scraping hard across the thin, slate roof in a frantic attempt to claw the whole place open. Another frightful storm closing yet another unseasonable day…
LUCES 