The looming penumbra was a terror, an impending doom which ensconced him. Slowly, deliberately, Bill crept forward into the passageway, arms outstretched, eyes straining to make sense of the shadowy miasma. All at once, the shape was eclipsed in the thin margin of sky above him: a vast, voluminous zeppelin, to which he turned and let a single apple fly, red and rich with hope.
“Call me Joe,” he said, “Ohayu gozaimasu!” He let a pint of sweat pour from the unplugged ankle of his suit, ran a hacksaw blade up and down the strings of his double bass, and began to wade ashore, swamping fishing boats in his wake, two Toyota Celicas flying out of his mouth as we cried, “Oh, terrible gorilla-whale, spare us the rich frothy conflagration of your demonic radioactive anger!” “Okey-dokey,” he said, “you know what this means, don’t you?” and he held up the thousands and thousands of green, hard rubber suits, all unzipped, gaping, and waiting for us to put them on, to surrender, to join.
Comment | February 7, 2009
The monsters waited in the background for Lill to get out of the foreground. They didn’t realize that Lill wasn’t as real as they were and wasn’t going to move unless they paid her in minutes sitting in front of the television. The monsters crept forward and spikes came out of their noses and ears; Lill twitched.
Comment | April 26, 2009
Then I saw her, splayed out across the bed. Her breaths were drawn, punctuated by the staccato raindrops outside. Leaning in, I whisper the words, until her eyes, at last, go silent.
Comment | September 15, 2009
Selene clicked her hard, pointed teeth together and expertly caught her pencil with her long, apple green tongue as she felt the question race into her mind. She didn’t understand what Paul, China, or train meant and what they had to do with each other, but why did it matter? She was a fallen god, after all, and with that she made her decision.
Comment | December 9, 2009
There was a bird and a bath and a man who watched them. A hedgerow nearby and a thing inside that watched the man, watching the bird, swimming in the bath. And a boy with a book, seated at a window ‘neath a sallow sun watching it all, too afraid to turn the page.
Comment | December 31, 2009
No one knew for sure what went on back there, behind the building. You could go there, in theory, but nobody went. Kind of like Guatemala, or New Plymouth. But Paul was never a man to back down from an adventure – even if, truth be told, he hadn’t been supplied with an awful lot of adventures to back down from. This, however, was his big break. The beginning of a long and glorious career of Not Backing Down. The moment he put his backing down days behind him, and put himself, trusty apple in tow, behind the building. This was it.
Over the sink, under the water, through the steam, between the suds, he scrubs and he scrubs and he scrubs. His hands should be, by now, swollen pink or the red that is under the pink, but who could tell with all this mist and soap. His wedding band is gone, rattling down with banners of skin, through pipes, to the waters below.
Nobody knew, what it was. Even Lida herself. Still, the round void in her left palm was becoming more and more irresistible.
Comment | January 18, 2011
Frank moodily glanced around A Dark Alley and the sight of the brick walls with spots of mold in the corners and the dark, wooden floors that did not hide the years of dirt and neglect made him scowl from his cushy, over-padded seat. A Dark Alley was a pub with a dark and oppressive atmosphere that made anyone who was in the small, dingy room uncomfortable and wishing for a warm fire. While Frank waited for his client he brought out his lucky toy car, a bright blue 1950s Cadillac and began to roll it across the table, back and forth and back and forth and wished that he could just sink into his booth and disappear and that he had never gotten himself into this situation in the first place.
Comment | January 21, 2011
Frank was an ill named creature. He never could quite get around to what he meant to say, or to whom, he even got confused on the where sometimes. That was how he ended up in Japan one august afternoon, casually shooting apples from an AK47 at every single electric car that drove by.
Billy wanted to be brave enough to take the dark alley to school. He stood at the entrance, hearing the howling of the soul snatchers from their weedy hidey-holes. It was the lonely red book bag – ripped and soiled on the concrete – that made him step inside.
Steve hated going to Just like Russia- it was a stupid name for a bar- but Pythagoras (who’s real name was also Steve) liked the perfect right angles between the bar counter and the back wall, he maintained that no other bar in the city had them. Even when she argued that the angles all looked 90 degrees to her, he said that Just Like Russia was special. She had stopped trying to convince him to go anywhere else but suspected that it had more to do with the fact that Russia served vodka on tap (a somewhat funny play on the idea that they thought vodka was Russian for water). That was the trouble with being in love with a genius, she told herself, you had to put up with their terrible taste in night life and the fact that they never remembered their bags at the airport.