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“God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;” — William Cowper
Eli and Vernon Browbridge rolled The Fat Man’s bloated body from the trunk of their 1987 Pontiac Grand Prix into the hole in the ground they had just dug.
Eli spoke first. “I wonder if a dead fat guy smells worse than a thin broad that’s been roasting in a hot car trunk?” He grabbed a dirty handkerchief from his back pocket, blew his nose and wiped the sweat from his face. Dirt and snot streaked his cheek.
“You got me,” Vernon replied.… Read the rest
Posted in Stories
Tagged with: domestic
It’s magical when kids help out around the house.
There was a dead mouse in Mum’s bedroom.
Simon gently pushed the door open and crept in. He smelled his mother’s perfume, almost overwhelmed by the odour of sweat and cigarettes and sour alcohol. A ray of morning sunlight shone through the curtains like a spotlight, illuminating a snoring shape under the covers. Simon was always surprised by how small Matt looked when he wasn’t shouting. His feet didn’t even reach the end of the bed, but fell short by—well, a foot.
Navigating the minefield of socks and cigarette papers and empty glasses, Simon stole round the bed to the other side.… Read the rest
Things have a funny way of working out – for some people, anyway.
Elliot didn’t know what had made him stop in at the pawnbroker’s on his way home from work that Tuesday evening. Perhaps simply the fact that it was so close to his apartment, just across the street behind his building. He certainly hadn’t anticipated buying Olivia’s engagement ring from a pawnbroker, but once the fellow in the shop had shown him the ring he simply had to have it.
Olivia wouldn’t care where the ring came from. She loved him, and he wasn’t from a rich family. He rearranged his accounts and on Saturday stepped out into the sweltering summer morning with a bank cheque for twenty thousand dollars in his wallet.… Read the rest
It doesn’t take much to fan the flames.
Sunday afternoon, the end of Dad’s and my weekend together, was fading fast. If he didn’t have me to Mom’s by six there’d be hell to pay. Dad was sitting in a chair, eyes closed. I started gathering up things, throwing them in the trunk of the car.
I tossed some water on the center of our fire and turned away. A moment later, I was yanked back by the collar of my shirt.
“What did you just do, Jackson?” My father had leaned over and his face was close to mine. The alcohol on his breath that meant I’d be the one in charge of getting us back on time was sharp in my nostrils.… Read the rest
Even in the shadow of war, the friendship of children is the most effective melting pot.
At seven years old I was already more of a soldier than they would ever be. A better secret agent. A real stand-up guy, even. Like, Aunt Maeve would start smoking and reaching for a bottle in her handbag, and I loved her, so you’re not hearing it from me. My neighbor from across the street was inside his front door with some man when I was on the sidewalk. Mr. Fessente told me he had to teach that man a lesson was all, and no need to tell anybody, OK?… Read the rest