May 2010
Issue No. 002
eFiction
Glen Binger’s Jersey Surf ‘Opening Weekend’
Zach Ankeny, interview plus short story
Six handpicked short stories by new authors
Tonya Moore’s Blood Binds Episode 2 May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Contents Short Stories Everyone Will Have their Day to Die
Zach Ankeny
The Shield
Hugsss
Hunter Lingoure Brian Albright
Lover’s Root
Routine
Dianna Linnemann Griselda Santiago
Letter from the Editor Dear Reader,
eFiction Magazine is a free, monthly fiction
magazine that is open to submissions from anyone.
eFiction is a writing movement (click here to join)
that focuses on developing successful fiction and other creative writing in the digital age.
If once a month is not enough of an eFiction fix for
you, jump to the blog. It is updated a few times a week.
Piecing Together Family
Or follow the editor on twitter @efictionmag.
Seven Interruptions
Andi Gregory Pearson Robert Meade
Favorite Dream
Poetry
Suzanne Haskew
Serial Fiction Blood Binds
Episode 2 Tonya Moore
As stated above, submissions are open to everyone.
This magazine believes in creative freedom. Every genre is accepted, all lengths of pieces, if you have images you want to use, video, sound, whatever. Submit the draft here. Turnaround on stories is quick. You can see your story in the next issue.
Shoot comments or questions to editor@efictionmag.com
DW Lance
Jersey Surf
Editor-in-Chief
Episode 2 “Opening Weekend” Glen Binger
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May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Author Spotlight Zach Ankeny
Zach Ankeny is a published author of both fiction and nonfiction works. He makes a living writing and researching historical records for the Jerome Historical Society. He answered questions about his writing and news in the publishing industry.
What is your publishing history?
Though I have been writing fiction for many years, I am fairly new to the publishing industry. In the beginning of my writing career, I would publish much of my short fiction myself through blogs and other web-based outlets. About three years ago, I began writing non-fiction articles and historical research papers for both the Jerome (Arizona) Historical Society, and the Phoenix (Arizona) Historical Society. Jerome is a mining town in central Arizona that is known as the world’s largest ghost town, or “Ghost City.” The town sat nearly abandoned from the late 1930’s to the 1980’s when it saw a resurgence. Though many historical records still exist in the town, less than half have been adequately researched or published. Writing and publishing the research papers was an interesting experience and solidified my decision to become a full-time writer and concentrate on my fiction work.
What is your latest project? I just finished the first draft of my novel “No sunshine on the road”. A love story about a boy named Rallie and a girl named Jordie who live in Cottonwood, Arizona. Their tumultuous relationship gets even worse when Rallie overhears an urban
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legend about a road out in the desert that was abandoned before completed because anyone that was standing on the road after the sun set, would simply disappear. I am also a little more than halfway through writing my first draft of “Celebration of the Waning Moon”. A story about a newly married couple who planned for a honeymoon in Costa Rica. Their plane is struck by lightning on the way to Costa Rica, and instead have to land on a small island called Isla Luna Disminuir(Island of the Waning Moon). The island is primitive except for a lavish resort owned by an eccentric German expatriate. While on the island, they are witness to the locals’ “Annual Celebration”, a festival showcasing the magical powers their belief in voodoo had granted them. The celebration culminates with a show of strength. The strongest of the tribe has to do battle with a strange beast that emanates from the jungle on command. The show is frightening and the couple want to escape, but it’s too late.
How have your writing career plans changed due to the technology shift in publishing? Simply, it hasn’t. I write the way I write, and I write what I am compelled to write. My stories aren’t changed by the way I am required to submit them or by the word counts one pub-
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
lisher prefers or by anything else in the publishing industry. The characters in my book come alive as I write them, and they don’t care if something they do or say within the story might cause the book or story to be rejected, so I don’t either. Once the story has closed itself, then I start to think about how to market it or sell it. If the stories begin to suffer, then my career also begins to suffer. Therefore, I live out the story and if it sells, great; if not I’m not bothered by it. The satisfaction I get from writing comes from the actual act of writing, not from an advance check or movie options or anything else – those are just a bonus.
Where do you see publishing going in the next five years?
Even though my fiction stories usually come across as dreary or pessimistic, I am in actuality a very optimistic person. My view of the future of publishing is also an optimistic one. Changes are coming, that’s for sure; but I think that the coming changes will be positive and quite the opposite of what a lot of writers, editors and publishers are fearing. With any change in technology or trends in culture, must come acceptance, because there’s no holding it back and assimilation is inevitable. I think that the next five years will see quite a few holdouts that resist conforming to new standards, but all in all I think that the majority of us will have a smooth transition into new media formats. I think that news media, periodicals and magazines will have the toughest time in the transition – therefore shorter stories, articles and those who write and publish them will be affected the most. Writers and publishers of novels, novellas and epic series’, however, will not be affected as deeply. I believe that some publications that are smaller and have less of a circulation will certainly close their doors if they cannot find a way to merge into our new world. But newer publications will emerge in their place and some of those “newbies” will certainly bring with them new ideas and fresh approaches to publishing that will not only keep the craft alive, but will also breathe new life into it.
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Does the iPad live up to the hype? What does it mean for publishing? Ah, the iPad. I’m sure that as we speak right now, there are people in the publishing industry cursing its name, putting hexes on Steve Jobs and hoping it will be sent back to hell in a hurry. In my opinion, the fears that the device will kill writers and writing as an art form seems to be the one hype it won’t live up to. It’s a handy tool, sure, but I think that its uses aside from reading will turn out to be what makes it a mainstay in the mainstream of our culture. I have spoken with many people in the past year about reading devices such as the iPad and the common agreement is: “I don’t want to read a full book on a screen!” My friends and family seem to be in agreement that they may use the device to read a magazine article or catch up on the day’s news while toiling through their workdays, but wouldn’t want read 50,000 to 110,000 words on its flickering screen – and I agree. Whenever I complete a short story, novella or novel; I immediately want my close friends and family to read it and give me there feedback. What results is a readingcurve. The longer the story sent via email, the less people that actually read it. My novella “Lonesome Old Town”, which came in at about 60,000 words, wasn’t read by anyone I sent it to. I printed out a few copies and handed them to the same people. It cost me more than the e-mail had, but it was actually read. That’s what it comes down to – will it be read? I think that soon enough the publishing houses will realize the reading curve for themselves, and will once again adjust to it.
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Everyone Will Have their Day to Die
week of being 23 safe at home, locked away from danger; trying to avoid his inevitable death. This would have been the smart thing to do, knowing the age at which he was to die. But the call from his mother the night before, telling
Zach Ankeny
Vinson that his grandfather had passed away meant that
“Don’t ask the questions you don’t want to hear the answers to,” Vinson told himself as he buckled his
possible flight out of Phoenix to the Davenport, Iowa. In
seatbelt; strapping himself to the body of the 747 that
a sense, Vinson had accepted his death. As much as any
would surely be his casket. “I never visited a psychic
man could. “It really is inevitable,” he thought. “There’s
before in my life – never wanted to – then when I do, she
no fooling fate.” Fate, that cunning force that vibrates
tells me I’m going to die at the age of 23.” He laughed
through all of us at all times, wasn’t going to allow him to
to himself – It was all he could do. Not that it was
stay in a safe room avoiding any possible causes of death
particularly funny; just ironic enough to cause a nervous
that might spring at him like a deadfall. No… Fate had
giggle. Vinson was 23 years old, and in 7 days he would
plans for Vinson Reynolds.
be 24 – or so he hoped.
The airliner lunged forward on the runway, making
The flight attendants went through their pre-flight
a series of blind turns from left to right before going full
procedures. The usual… Where the exits are (which would
force along the long stretch of tarmac and pulling itself
offer no help as the plane slammed into the Kansas plains
onto a cushion of air. First a foot from the ground, then a
at 400 miles per hour), how the oxygen masks would
hundred, and then a thousand. Vinson’s palms squeezed
drop from the ceiling (just before melting to your face in
the armrests as he looked straight forward waiting for
a sea of burning jet fuel), and everyone’s favorite tall tale
the end. It took about 10 minutes for him to realize that
about seat cushions that double as a floatation device.
they were safely in the air and death had not come for
If it were possible, Vinson would have spent the last
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there was no getting out of it – he was to board the next
him. “The highest chance for a crash is always on the
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
landing – not the takeoff,” he thought to himself. He was
from the shaking turbulence on the back of his seat.
alive still, but didn’t want to be. Death, he supposed, he
“Can I get a beer, or maybe a rum and coke?”
could deal with; but the torture of waiting for it while
Vinson asked, desperate for anything to take the edge off.
someone tossed peanuts into his lap was a torture beyond any he had ever known. He looked out the side window,
“Oh, I’m sorry but we don’t serve alcohol on this flight.”
glancing down the left wing of the plain as it bounced the precipitous clouds off its sheen polish. Another horrible
Of course not… Anyone can deal with their last minutes on earth when they’re good and liquefied.
realization struck him… Emergency exits on top of the wings? All of the fuel was held in the wings – in an actual
sort?”
crash, those doors would turn into the gates to hell. He
“No… Nevermind.”
slammed the plastic cover shut, blocking his view to the
For some reason he thought of a line from Willy
outside and fixed his attention to the armrest. The old
Wonka and the Chocolate Factory – “Bubbles, bubbles
airplane – Like nearly every other in service – still had
everywhere and not a drop to drink.” It was a movie
ashtrays carved into the armrest. His thirst for a smoke
he loved, and for a moment the thought of it gave him
cried out within him, begged for just a little puff to calm
comfort; until he remembered that Charlie and Grandpa
his nerves. Even if he dared to pull a cigarette from his
Joe’s flight from the fizzy lifting drink sent them careening
pocket; it wouldn’t have been a fruitful act, there aren’t
toward the fan at the ceiling of the room where they
any lighters allowed on commercial flights now – not
would surely be cut to ribbons. Again he had to shake the
after September 11th. “Oh God,” he thought, as the
thoughts away.
remembrances of watching planes pierce the skyscrapers
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“Can I offer you a soda or maybe a juice of some
The plane shook violently nearly the entire time
popped into his head. He shook the images from his mind
they were in the air; three and a half hours of jolting that
and called the flight attendant.
jarred Vinson’s fragile nerves. He caught himself praying
“Yes sir?” the woman came over, bracing herself
for a surface to air missile that would blast them out of
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
the sky, or a cataclysmic failure of the engines that would
across his stomach and buried his shoes into the seatback
erupt into flames and take them out before anyone could
in front of him. “Maybe I should say a prayer,” he thought
realize what was happening – anything that would save
to himself. Maybe he should have – but he didn’t. He
him from the torture of anticipation.
closed his eyes as the wingflaps screamed out a high-
There was no engine failure that came; no missiles, no terrorists, not even the creature on the wing that
him, losing its velocity. Shudders rippled through the
tortured John Lithgow’s flight in The Twilight Zone. Now,
hull of the plane and he found peace, concentrating on
after hours of anxiety; it was clear to him that the fuse
his breathing. The light shudders turned to a rumble as
would be lit on the final approach into Davenport.
the rubber tires skimmed the landing strip; Vinson felt
The dinging of the bell came a split second before
his eyes floating in their sockets and a strange feeling
the seatbelt sign lit up, followed by the captain’s voice.
flickering through his head – he flashed his eyelids open
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen… We are 5
just in time to see everything go black.
minutes out of the Quad Cities and will be preparing for
“Sir? Excuse me sir... Sir!” the woman’s voice and
our descent… In the Quad Cities we have clear skies but
hand on his shoulder finally brought Vinson back to
frigid temperatures hovering barely above 17 degrees…
reality. “Sir, we’ve landed… Do you need assistance with
If Davenport is not your final destination and you’ll be
your carry-on?” Vinson looked around him, the fuzziness
coming along with us to Chicago O’hare, you’ll definitely
in his head told him that he had passed out.
see some snow on your horizon… For those of you
“You say we landed?”
following us on the long haul to Buffalo, New York – when
“Yes… Do you need a hand with your carryon?”
we change to commuter – the chance of a white February
Vinson slid the plastic window cover up and saw
becomes inevitable…”
that they were indeed safely on the ground and let out
The captain dragged on with his half-assed weather
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pitched robotic whine; he could feel the plane drop below
report as Vinson’s heart raced. He tightened the belt
a sigh of relief. “No… Thank you but I can manage.” He stood up and grabbed his backpack from the overhead
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
compartment and joined the herd of cattle as they
time together as a family that didn’t get to see each other
shuffled down the aisle towards the walkway, taking them
as much as they’d like.
into the heart of the airport.
The entire family decided to go and have drinks
His head still tickled with static thoughts, and for a moment he considered if he was still dreaming; but the
river. Vinson was the last to enter, he stood on the porch
reality was that he had made it. He hadn’t died. He had
finishing the last bit of his cigarette and viewing the sun
reserved any sort of celebration until he stepped from the
set over the icy flow of the shimmering river. He flicked
plane onto the walkway. Once in the airport he ran to the
the smoldering filter into a tall ashtray near the entrance,
closest bathroom and threw up.
and walked in to join his family at the table.
It was a lovely service his family had prepared for
“Hey, there he his!” Vinson’s uncle shouted through
Vinson’s grandfather; complete with a 21 gun salute to
his vodka-tonic-laden breath. Vinson sat down and placed
honor grandpa’s veteran status. The funeral – and more
his white cloth napkin in his lap and kissing the cheek of
importantly the plane ride – gave Vinson a new view
his mother sitting next to him.
toward his own life. He made a promise to himself as his
“What’d I miss?” Vinson asked.
grandfather was lowered into the ground, that he would
Uncle Richie was the one to tell what they were
never again take life for granted; that he would live life to
laughing about, “We were just talking about the time
his fullest.
when you broke your legs and grandpa thought it would
Live it to its fullest, he did. The next five days, he
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downtown at a lovely bar that overlooked the Mississippi
be funny to imply that your mom had beaten you on a
spent with his cousins (32 in all), that he hadn’t seen
regular basis.” Uncle Richie had inherited the same sense
since childhood. 32 cousins that all had the time of their
of humor as Vinson’s grandfather. “Grandpa laughed
lives as they stayed in Iowa through the necessities
his ass off even when Child Protective Services showed
that usually follow a death; going through photo books,
up. The gathered group all hollered, laughing at the
divvying up what the old man left behind and spending
sometimes uncalled-for humor Grandpa had held while he
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
was still alive.
handed it to the woman
“He was just terrible,” his mother joked. “I thought they were going to take Vinson away from me!” Vinson sat with a coy look on his face, he had been too young to
coming.” The smile sunk off Vinson’s face… He pulled the
remember the now-hilarious incident but felt embarrassed
airplane ticket out of his pocket, hoping he wasn’t going
just the same.
to see the date he knew was displayed on the ticket.
“Oh… Before I forget, I have your ticket here for
The ticket read: “Davenport, Iowa to Phoenix,
you for your return flight,” she handed the ticket from her
Arizona – February 6th, 2005.” The day before his 24th
purse to Vinson. “You have an early flight tomorrow so
birthday. He stood up quickly knocking the complimentary
make sure your up and ready to go by 5am.”
glass of water over, soaking his side of the table.
Even the sight of the ticket soured his stomach. He was not nearly ready to get back on an airplane. “Ugh…”
“Better cancel that beer,” his uncle announced, joking that he had had too much.
he groaned. “Another flight… I’ll be happy if I never have
“Is everything alright sweetie?” Mother asked.
to fly again.” The family let out another chuckle, knowing
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine… I’ll be right back.”
his opposition toward both heights and flying.
Vinson ran back out to the restaurant patio and
Vinson slid the ticket into his pocket and hailed the
shakily lit another cigarette… The sunset had lost its
waitress to his end of the long table. “Can I get a beer?”
luster and only cast a grey haze over the river. “It’s not
he asked. “What do you have on draft?”
over,” he thought. “I’m still 23 for one more day.” Vinson
The woman listed the draft beers – at least those
took a long drag of his smoke and nearly gagged; he
she could remember – and Vinson settled on the cheap
tossed away the cigarette, but wasn’t ready to go back
and generic Budweiser. `
inside.
“Can I see your I.D.?” the waitress asked.
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“Oh wow!” she exclaimed. “You’ve got a birthday
“Sure.” He plucked the card from his wallet and
“Now boarding for flight oo51 nonstop to Phoenix Sky Harbor,” the voice mechanically chimed over the
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
intercom. It was 5:30 in the morning, but Vinson was
problems; delaying it over 2 hours before liftoff. The
drunk. The attendants at the security station had winked
passengers weren’t told what delayed the flight; they
at the fact that he had brought in a flask of rum –
simply sat in their chairs reading the oldest issue of
definitely more than five ounces. After the security check,
Skymall allowed in the seatback pockets. The problem
he had finished it well before the boarding call.
was actually quite simple: a coffee-maker that had sprung
“Here we go,” he whispered as he stared down the long corridor leading to the plane. His transport back to
require hours of inspection before the green-light was
Phoenix was not the 747 that had brought him to Iowa.
given to take off. In all, the flight was a successful one, in
This craft looked like it wasn’t fit to convey packages or
that all passengers arrived to their destination safely – if
letters, let alone the lives of the passengers that filed
not a little shaken.
blindly onto the plane.
“Fate won’t let you get away that easily,” he
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a leak; nothing that would down the aircraft, but did
Vinson slid the key into the front door-lock of his
apartment, his luggage slung over his shoulder. The dusty
revisited his thoughts from the earlier flight. “Well… If
smell of his vacant apartment was a welcome change
that be the case, there’s no use in delaying what’s to
from the odor of jet-fuel and dandruff-ridden cushions. He
come.” Vinson walked the plank onto the aircraft as it sat
tossed his baggage onto the floor and launched himself
fueling up for its long-haul. “Just take me,” he said to
onto his couch. Somehow, inexplicably, he had cheated
himself. “I can’t go on fearing my next step just because
fate… He had survived and was back in his own home
it might be a 30,000 foot fall – that’s not life. Take me as
once again. The DVD player flashed 8:45pm – a little over
I am, in whatever way you will; no longer will I fear the
3 hours left in his 23rd year. Sure, death might come back
road ahead…”
around for him in the little time it had left; but Vinson
didn’t care; he was out of the air. He could die peacefully
The rickety old MD-81 flattened onto the runway
at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport, giving a harrowing skid
in his own home, if that’s the way it was to happen.
before it came to a stop. The flight had quite a bit of
He laid back and closed his eyes, falling asleep almost
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
immediately.
The cell phone rattling around the couch cushion
woke Vinson from his sleep. The phone danced just inches away from his pocket – it must have vibrated a few times, shaking itself loose from the clutches of his pocket.
“Hello?” he answered, pulling the phone to the side
of his head.
“It’s dad,” the voice reciprocated. “Were you
sleeping?”
“Yeah, but I’m up now… What’s up?” Vinson
stretched himself awake.
“Well… Grandpa died,” His dad said.
“Yeah, I know – I just got back from Iowa,” Vinson
said, trying to fight through the leftover confusion of sleep.
“No… My dad died too,” his father clarified. “I guess
about an hour ago.”
Vinson looked over to the DVD player which
displayed 11:59pm.
“It’s rough… I know,” his dad said. “Two funerals in
a week… God! We need to fly out to Nebraska tomorrow morning.”
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12:00am… May 2010 eFiction Magazine
The Shield
the finest shields, and by this he won his freedom. When Solomos was born, Themius thought he would not teach his son the craft, but instead give him a higher
Hunter Ligoure
opportunity in the public speaking house. But on the day
In Macedonia, there lived a shield maker named
Solomos was to be taken to live with a virtuous Senator,
Solomos. Each morning, as the sun rose over the crest
a great thunderstorm ravaged the land. Themius and
of Mount Olympus, Solomos would stoke the furnace,
Solomos took shelter in a cave by the grove of Athena,
assemble his thread and needle, and check the drying of
Goddess of warfare, daughter of Zeus alone, (for she had
the hides. Once the fire was ablaze, he would add to it a
no mother).
measure of rosemary, myrtle, and juniper, as an offering
As lightning bolts rained down from the sky, Themius
to Hephaestus, son of Zeus, God of Fire and Craft, maker
took Solomos to Athena’s shrine and begged for
of the Argive, the special handle designed to give a Greek
forgiveness, certain he had angered her with his decision.
warrior the advantage in battle.
A grey owl appeared, and the lightening ceased from the
Solomos’s dwelling and shop were located on the east
sky. The owl spread its wings and dropped a soft feather
side of the walled village, away from the marketplace and
upon the head of Solomos. Themius took this as a sign
the crowded streets, far from peering eyes that would
that the great Maiden had spoken, and returned home.
try to learn his secrets. His competitors would buy his
Visitors to Solomos’s shop knew a finished shield was
shields, then try to take them apart in hopes of learning
ready for purchase when it was placed against the shrine
how they were designed. But it couldn’t be done, and so it
of Zeus in the yard. Rarely would there be more than one
was believed Solomos was blessed by the gods.
shield available at a time, as it was bought before the
Solomos’s father, Themius, born a slave, learned the shield making craft when he was a small boy, and by the
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time he was thirty, he had built a reputation for making
next was finished. Each shield bore his signature mark, an Σ above two owl eyes, a symbol that was said to frighten
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
warriors in battle, because of Solomos’s reputation. As
as wide and round, so that an average man could hide
Solomos placed his finished shield at the base of the
behind it, in his entirety.” She turned to leave.
statue, he bowed to Zeus, and thanked him for his wellbeing.
that could wield a shield of this scale. A shield of this
Outside the gate, a hunched figure, suspiciously
nature could only be made for Heracles or Achilles, and
lingered. Solomos assumed this would be the next buyer,
they are both dead, alive only in song.”
and waited, taking water from the well to cool his thirst.
“So you say.” The old woman closed the gate.
He sat in a chair beneath an olive tree and watched as the
Solomos rarely ventured beyond the courtyard. He
figure, dressed in a grey, hooded cloak, inspected his new
noticed his wife watching him from the garden. Never
shield. When the figure left the shield, without so much as
had he chased after a buyer, but the grandeur of making
a small praise for its craftsmanship, and without a hint of
a shield this size excited him. His mind ran over the
interest, Solomos rose from his seat, and approached his
plausibility. He wondered if he could make such a shield,
visitor.
but knew that if he did, his name would be remembered
“Do you not like the shield?” He asked, blocking the sun from his eyes with his hand.
for all time. “A shield as big as a man would be worth its weight
From beneath the cloak, an old woman’s wrinkled
in gold.” Solomos stopped the old woman with his
face turned up at him. Her eyes were gray, and filled with
hand. When he glanced into her eyes, he thought they
wisdom. “This shield is too small.”
shimmered.
Solomos laughed, incredulously. “My shield, unlike
From beneath the cloak, the old woman pulled out
any other, protects the holder from chin to knee, and it is
a heavy purse of coins. She extracted a single golden
round and wide to hide even a fat man.”
talent. “A shield such as this can also ruin the man who
The old woman frowned. “The shield I need would
13
“Wait,” Solomos called. “Surely, there is no man alive
have to be three times the length of that shield, and
makes it.” She placed the talent in Solomos’s hand. “A token of my goodwill.”
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Solomos hid the coin away, as a crowd gathered around him, interested in his business.
“Surely,” his wife said, “you can make three regular sized shields, with reasonable profits in the same time.”
“I will return in three month’s time—not a day sooner.”
“No, this is different. There is no other shield like this,
The old woman pulled the cloak down over her eyes. “If
save the shield of Achilles, long buried with him in his
the shield is not complete, I will expect to receive my
grave.”
token back. If you have neither shield nor token, you will
“But how will we subsist.” His wife’s voice was filled
face the consequences.”
with concern. “Three months without so much as a day’s
Solomos watched the old woman disappear in the
wage, and we’ll be ruined.”
crowd and returned to his yard. He shouted at the crowd
“We’ll manage,” said Solomos. “Besides, it’s for me to
to go away. His mind raced with figures, how many hides
be concerned with,” he scolded. “Not you. Return to your
it would take to pad the giant’s shield, the amount of
garden, to your weaving and spinning, and leave me to
wood needed to frame it, and the measure of bronze to
my work.”
cover it. He needed money quickly to buy supplies. He looked at the gold talent in his hand. Solomos was wise enough to know he would rather bury it, then spend it and have to repay it back.
His wife stepped back. She bowed respectfully, and left Solomos. Solomos made a list of supplies he would need, and before departing with his sons, he buried the gold talent
Solomos went to his shop, and assessed the amount of room he would need to erect the giant’s shield. He lay
in the ground. “Nice and safe.” He patted the dirt, then grabbed his hat, and departed for the marketplace.
on the floor, making two marks in the dirt to measure
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from his head to his feet. His wife and children stood at
Nearly three months had passed. Solomos had two
the door watching him, confused by his behavior. “The
days to complete the giant’s shield. He had spent every
shield will barely fit, but I don’t have time to rebuild. It
ounce of daylight, and many dark nights perfecting
may take me three months, but I will do it.”
the look of it. The wooden frame had been shaped and May 2010 eFiction Magazine
sanded smooth. Nine layers of bull hides had been dried
have no food. Our garden is bare. Your sons hunger. We
and sewn together. Two layers of bronze had been crafted
cannot go on like this.”
into a circle plate, then adhered to the hides. All he had left was to add the Argive and front decoration. The Solomos who had started the shield was not the
From it he pulled out a metal drinking-horn. It was his father’s. A prize from a warrior pleased with his father’s
same man all these months later. His face was now thin
work. The drinking-horn was shaped into a lion’s head.
and drawn; his chiton was no longer clean, but ragged
It was a keepsake he didn’t want to part with. Solomos
and dirty. The house that surrounded him was no longer
glanced at the shield, and then to the floor where the gold
regal, but nearly bare, having sold most of his exotic
talent still rested. “Take this,” he said, “if it is not enough,
belongings to afford his pricy endeavor. It was hard for
tell them to come back in two days time.”
Solomos not to notice his wife’s waiflike appearance, or
His wife placated the magistrate with the drinking-
his boy’s undernourished bodies. When was the last time
horn as a form of payment. “It will only buy us one day,”
they had a proper meal?
she returned the message to Solomos. “Tomorrow he will
“Two more days.” Solomos voiced. “Two more days
15
Solomos went to a chest hidden behind the furnace.
come again with guards to exact payment.” Solomos bid
and all will be restored.” Solomos didn’t notice the
her to leave, and started on the Argive again.
magistrate enter the gardens. Instead he was focused
The next morning, Solomos awoke with his head and
on attaching the Argive. His wife came into the shop,
arms lying on top of the massive shield. He glanced over
breaking his concentration, which caused him to loose his
his work. He tugged on the Argive, which had time to set.
grip. The handle broke off in his hand. In a quick fury, he
It was perfect. He had only the decoration to finish.
raised his fist to hit his wife, but stopped upon seeing the
From the courtyard Solomos could hear his wife
magistrate. His wife explained they had come to collect
screaming for him. He jumped up, and ran outside. The
the overdue taxes.
magistrate and several guards were shackling his wife and
“We have no money to give,” his wife pleaded. “We
son’s.
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
“Pay what is owed, Solomos,” said the magistrate, “or
placed the gold talent inside. He cast it into the flames
I’ll take your family as payment. As slaves they’ll work off
and waited for it to melt. The decoration was the most
their fines.”
important part of the shield. It told other warriors who
Solomos backed away. He was frightened. He ran to the shop, and started to dig up the talent. It would more
owner. Solomos closed his eyes and waited for an image
than pay his debts. The cold metal was heavy in his palm.
to come into his head. He called on Hephaestus to guide
He started for the door, and then stopped. He realized
him, to show him the perfect emblem.
his fear was not fueled by the magistrate, or from losing
Overhead, the sky darkened with smoke, and storm
his wife or sons, but of the possibility of not being able to
clouds moved in, accompanied with lightening. Rain
finish his shield. “One day,” he said. “I need but this day
poured from the heavens. Solomos smiled at his good
to finish.”
fortune. The gods were smiling down on him. Soon, the
Smoke and fire filled the air, as the guards lit the
fire was nearly out. With his thirst quenched, he set to
house on fire. A lighted torch was tossed into the shop.
work crafting the shield’s emblem. The picture firm in his
The thatched roof started up in flames.
mind.
“My shield,” he cried. Solomos struggled to move
The next morning, Solomos woke to the hot sun in the
the heavy sphere from the table. With all his might, he
open yard, where he slept upon the hard ground beside
pushed it over. The shield toppled, and rolled, breaking
the shield. He had finished. His work was complete.
through the wall, and landing in the yard, away from the
Soon, the old woman would come and he would be paid
flames.
handsomely for his efforts.
Solomos blocked out the terrified screams of his family
16
made it, and sometimes which god was protecting the
In the street a garrison of guards crowded at his
as they were dragged into the street and taken away. He
gate. The same magistrate stepped forward, and
watched the fire. Nothing would stop him from finishing
ordered Solomos’s arrest. He tried to resist, but was
his work. He fished an iron ladle from the well, and
outnumbered, and shackled like a slave. What would his
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
father say if he could see him?
Goddess Athena. The magistrate and his guards dropped
A guard called to the magistrate upon seeing the massive shield. But four guards could not lift it, so it was
Athena ran her hands over the gold emblem. “How
considered useless. Solomos watched his dream of fame
fitting,” she said. “Golden lightening bolts, a symbol
fall away as he was taken from his home. He was dragged
of my greatness and glory.” She raised her finger to
into the street and made a spectacle to all.
Solomos, who stood. His shackles dropped off. “You have
Coming toward him, towering above the guards, and most men, was a great warrior-giant who stood at least eight-feet-tall. Beside him, shrunken in posture was the old woman, cloaked in grey. She stopped the magistrate,
recognized I have been with you all along.” Solomos bowed his head, as Athena touched him. “You have done well, Solomos.” The giant took up the shield. The sun seemed to
explaining to him the debt Solomos owed to her. “He owes
disappear from the sky when he raised it. In the next
me either a shield or a talent,” she said.
moment, both Athena and the giant were gone, the shield
“They’re one in the same,” said Solomon pointing to the shield, the bronze plate reflecting like an orb in the distance. “See for yourself.”
with them. In it’s stead a bag of gold. Solomos paid his debts to all he owed. He bought back his family and rebuilt his home. He continued to make
“If this is true,” said the woman to the magistrate, “then he’ll have the means to pay you his dues.” The magistrate was interested, and followed the woman and giant back to the courtyard. They all gathered around the shield. The old woman took off her hood, and when she did, a golden light fell over all of them, and they recognized it as the glory of a god. Tall and straight-
17
to their knees, as did Solomos.
backed, with grey eyes, and golden hair stood the
shields as word spread far and wide through Macedonia and all of Greece, and even to distant shores, that Solomos, son of Themius, was the greatest shield maker, and that he was blessed by the gods. Hunter Lingoure holds a BA in History, and is finishing her MFA in Creative Writing. her work has appeared in diverse publications, including, “Katie Ireland,” forthcoming in Lacuna Historical Journal, “Dragon Queen,” in Kissed by Venus, and “The Lair of King Crow,” which was serialized this February in Yesteryear Fiction. For more, visit: www.theworldinthirtystories.com
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Hugsss
mother yells some more. Jake wonders why the nurse is apologizing--she didn’t give his sister the cancer. He tunes them both out and returns to his magazine. Jake’s mother is there, in front of him, demanding
Brian Albright
that he tell her why he wasn’t with his sister, offering
Jake stares out the window of the waiting room as a garbage truck operator pulls levers on the apparatus and
ignores her. The woman rips his magazine from his hands
empties bins of bagged medical waste into a compactor.
and yells at him, asking what was so damned pressing
The hydraulic cylinders whine, a plaintive sound muffled
that he couldn’t be there. She stands too close. Jake
by the glass pane. Jake remembers when dusky men
steps backward. What’s it matter, he says, adding that he
with thick gloves and denim coveralls handled trash
was out of cigarettes and it wasn’t like she was going to
themselves, before syringes became deadly. The vehicle
wake up anyway.
rumbles away in a haze of diesel smoke. It’s forest green, though with distance, is colorless in the show. Jake’s sister in the room down the hall has just died from ovarian cancer.
A slap stings his cheek. His mother calls him a cold bastard, just like his father. Jake slaps the woman back. A security guard walks with Jake to another waiting room on the other side of the hospital. The television is
He hears his mother curse as she fusses with the
18
support at the end. Jake doesn’t know what to say, so he
on, an old picture tube Panasonic with a bubble screen.
call button, making several waah sounds. Half of a
It’s secured to the wall with a padlock, as if worth
minute passes and someone steps into the hall, a nursing
stealing. The sound is off and the bottom of the screen
student with bloodshot eyes. As she walks by, Jake asks
says MUTE in bright yellow letters. Jake finds it curious
her whether she’s hung over. She doesn’t reply.
that MUTE ignores the snowy screen behind it.
He hears his mother yelling in the next room.
The guard says he doesn’t know how to change the
The nurse says that she’s sorry for her loss, but his
channel. That’s okay, Jake says and looks out the window
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
at the falling snow. They don’t say much to one other
has a few blemishes and signs of wear, but otherwise is in
after that.
excellent repair. The keys are black plastic and have been
Jake is in a slightly darkened room, looking at the body that used to be his sister and he is surprised that
He opens his web browser, updated just the week
the skin is such a dark yellow. Would five trillion cancer
prior, and pulls down the bookmark to his MyFace!! social
cells make her change color, he asks. He’s looked up how
networking page. He’s customized his page extensively
much cancer is needed to destroy a person. Five trillion
and is proud of the layout, a tasteful design of warm,
seems like a lot, but cells are small, he figures. The
muted colors. He types into his status line, “Took a walk
cancer had spread to her liver, he’s told by a squinting
in the snow today. Time: 83 min. Distance: 3.5 miles. It
man with a nametag Jake can’t read.
was a good walk, if a little cold.” He follows his message
The body doesn’t stink of decay. It smells instead of the musk of unwashed skin and urine. He’s read that bowels loosen in death, but she had been fed from a tube for several days; he assumes this is why she doesn’t smell like feces. He’s glad for it. He tries to bum a
with a “happy face” emoticon. Emotions are easily selected from a pull-down menu. According to MyFace!!, Jake R. Murray has three hundred seven friends. He glances at the news feed and sees an update
light from the other man, but there’s no smoking in the
from Cynthia, the mother of his childhood friend, Chad,
hospital. What’ll it hurt, he asks. She’s already dead.
who lived a block over. Cynthia’s tired, she says. She’s
He steps outside and walks into the wind, his coat open at the front. After a time, he puts his hands into his pockets.
Once cold, they don’t warm easily.
often tired and Jake hopes that she doesn’t have anything wrong with her. The woman used to hug Jake when he went to visit
#
years ago, which makes him feel uncomfortable still. She
Jake lies on the bed beside his laptop, which has a
19
worn smooth by his fingertips.
fifteen-inch screen and a chassis of polished aluminum. It
lives in the same house, though she’s divorced and is determined to stay that way, or so she says. Jake secretly
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
suspects that she’ll rethink things when she finds the right and no, he’s not that Charles Manson!” fame, says, “Hiya man.
Jake! Her profile picture is all smile and soft edges and
Jake almost feels her touch, even though they’ve
Jack wonders what it’d be like to have her as a mother
never met. Shelly’s posted photos have dimples and he
instead.
finds her smile very attractive.
“*Comf* How’s Jiggers doing?” he asks, the keys
“Heya Shell. U keepin busy?” He chooses the
clicking softly as he types. Cynthia’s dachshund gets bad
“winking grin” emoticon. It seems flirtatious without being
gas when fed pistachios and it had downed an entire
overly so and he’s in that kind of mood.
bag yesterday. Cynthia had shared this the day prior on MyFace!!, emoting chagrin.
They flash each other for several minutes and Jake finds himself laughing out loud for the first time that day.
Jake sends an early birthday wish to Chris Martinez.
Shelly’s got a great sense of humor.
It’s three days early, but Jake likes staying on top of
She leaves to go make dinner for her and her
things like this. Chris was the supervisor at Jake’s first
husband and Jake can’t help but feel a little empty as her
job, a wretched marketing stint that he couldn’t wait to
icon disappears from his screen. He leans back against
quit. The man wears stylish clothes and is considering
the headboard and closes his eyes, images of smiles
picking up a Breitling Chronomat designer watch as an
and dimples pushing the thoughts of his day into the
early gift to himself. He can’t decide whether to go with
background.
the black or white face with gold accents. Jake tries to
He wakes in the dark. Out of habit, he fumbles on
remember whether Chris had ever met his sister, but
the bed for his laptop. Even on its dimmest setting, his
realizes that it probably doesn’t matter since she’s dead.
eyes take a minute to adjust to the backlight level of the
A chime sounds, indicating a flash message, and
20
-Hugs-.”
screen. He refreshes his MyFace!! page, but avoids the
a dialog box opens on his screen. Shelly Wong-Manson,
message boards—it wouldn’t do to be seen online at 3:15
of kitten avatar and “Yes, my hubbie’s name is Charles
am.
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Instead, he clicks on “Find new friends,” and follows the link, “Find friends from college.” He scrolls down the list of names, pretending he’s not looking for anyone in
number and clicks ‘Send’ before insecurity makes him click ‘Delete.’ Later, he thinks of her as he masturbates. Her
particular, but slows upon reaching the ‘G’s. He stops at a
face is hard to remember, so he imagines her placeholder
name: Gruoch Henderson.
silhouette on MyFace!!.
He dated a Gruoch in college, though she had a different last name then. A tomboy with straight hair and
Jake arrives late to his sister’s funeral, having
large eyes, she had a button-cuteness that belied her
spent most of the night fiddling around on his computer.
hair-trigger temper and sailor’s lexicon. Their passion at
The eulogy has started already. He flicks a half-burned
the time was bipolar, a cauldron of lust and fury before
cigarette into the snow and steps on it. Someone nearby
parting ways on less than amicable terms. He’s not heard
coughs and he sees his relatives glare at him. He wonders
from her since.
if it’s because he’s been named a pallbearer and isn’t
Gruoch is new to MyFace!!, apparently, with no photograph and only three friends. He composes a friend request.
standing in the right place. Whatever, he thinks. Stupid ceremonies. The minister’s words grow tedious and Jake
After an hour of fretful typing and deleting, Jake
maunders among the headstones, kicking up. He brushes
proofreads his note. He knows it’s not perfect, but he
off one of the stones and sits on it to light another
wants to get the tone just right. Near the end, he inserts
cigarette. It’s cold and he’s forgotten his topcoat; he
a casual mention of his sister’s passing, tamping down
doubts he’ll stay long. After a few minutes, he crushes the
feelings of wrongness at introducing those events into this
fire out on the cold granite and leaves.
part of his life. In his closing, he tells her that he wishes
21
#
He tosses his sport coat onto the floor of his hotel
to continue their friendship, if possible. Against his better
room and puts a bottle of malt liquor into the small
judgment, he adds a postscript requesting her telephone
refrigerator. He twists the cap open on a second and
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
drinks several swallows, the liquid stinging his throat as it
“Jake, You do have the right Gruoch. Not many have
goes down.
such sadistic, Shakespeare-obsessed parents. I’m terribly
He opens his laptop to MyFace!!. In the days since he sent the note to Gruoch, he’s heard nothing, despite
I imagine you two must have been very close. My own
having gone out of his way to check several times a day.
circumstances seem trite in light of your tragedy, but I’ll
He wonders if maybe she’s ignoring him because of his
answer anyway. We were dear to each other once and
receding hairline. He considers taking down his profile
perhaps some comfort can come from knowing that there
photograph.
is good in the world.
The machine boots and he taps his fingers on the
“I’ve married a wonderful man and we’ve been
edge of the computer as the hard drive makes familiar
together for seven years now. We have three children,
crunching noises. He recalls the feel of Gruoch’s hair
a boy and twin girls. I never thought I’d want to be a
tickling his chest and her earthy laughter at her own
mother, but now I can’t imagine being anything but.
jokes, that she’s his Lady Brett Ashley, the flighty, elusive
I’ve found what was missing in my life and couldn’t be
spirit from Hemingway’s novel. In his memories, though,
happier.
her face remains an indistinct blur. This bothers him. He’s failed to tame his Brett, as his chronically empty inbox of the past few days reminds him. It dredges memories of calls unanswered, of doors slammed in his
“While you and I had our troubles, I hope you’ve found someone special in your life too. Everyone deserves happiness and I would wish that for you. “I’d like to be a better friend to you now, especially
face that he was forced to kick open just to have a civil
in light of your loss, but I would prefer not to get too
conversation, of restraining orders served.
close after what happened between us at the end. Please
To his surprise, he sees that Gruoch, her profile still faceless, has left him a message. He clicks open the note
22
sorry to hear of your sister’s passing. I never met her, but
a little too quickly and hears her soft alto as he reads,
forgive me, but I don’t feel comfortable sharing my telephone number.” Jake slams his laptop closed, thinking it’s ironic how
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
she could end her letter with, “Love, Gruoch.”
and flattered to accept your friendssssship in whatever
Somehow, his computer ends up hurled against the wall and Jake finds himself stomping on it, his foot
“Please don’t leave me alone again, my Gruoch,
weeping where jagged bits of chassis poke through the
I beg you. I’ve so little in my life and you are all I ever
heel of his sock. It’s okay, he says. It was obsolete and
truly wanted. Losing your friendship would end me, I’m
he needed a new one anyway.
certain.” #
He looks over the message for a long time. Though
Jake sits at a terminal in a public library. The ‘S’
closer to his heart, it’s inconsistent with his breezier, less
key sticks, but it’s the only computer not being used by
earnest online persona. He grudgingly deletes the text,
teenagers to send text messages to one another.
the risk of losing himself too great.
Keys pop under his fingers as he screams at his
A voice over the intercom announces that the
former love, “…AND WHAT KIND OF PERSON TAKESSSSS
library is closing and Jake dashes off a note, “Heya
WHAT WE SSHARED TOGETHER AND THROWSSS IT IN
Gruoch, Understand about the phone thing, no biggee.
THE TOILET LIKE THAT?! I HATE YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE
Keeping thingss on MyFace!! is cool by me. Glad I can be
,YOU BITHC!!!”
your friend again. -Hugsss- Jake.” He attaches a “big grin”
He sits back for a moment and rereads. With the mouse, he highlights the message and clicks ‘Delete.’ Incautiously said things are easily unsaid on MyFace!!. He begins anew. “Dearest Gruoch, I’m composssing this from a public terminal, so I’ll have to keep it sssshort. I apologize for the ssticky key. I love you dearly, I always have, and am devassstated to hear of your
23
capacity you are willing to give.
emoticon and hits ‘Send.’ According to MyFace!!, Jake R. Murray has three hundred eight friends. Brian Albright is a theoretical physicist by trade and occasional professional writer. He sold several pieces of short fiction in the literary fiction, hard science fiction, and horror genres. He made three professional short fiction sales this past month: two pieces of hard science fiction to the online magazine “Micro Flash Fiction” http://magcloud.com/browse/Issue/67541, and the “Horror in the Rain” writing contest for the Often Inspired Magazine with my story, “Bear Hang.” This contest is competed monthly with prizes of $50 and publication in the online journal http://ofteninspired.com/
having selected another. In ssspite of this, I’m privileged May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Lover’s Root
the cold, when she came to the area where the Lover’s Root could be found, she had to leave her shoes behind. Together with the rest of her clothes.
Dianna Linnemann
woman like her out in the wild on her own! And despite
The shop is located in a back street, in a big town,
The customer shivers. From the cold he imagines or
from the image of an old, crooked nude? It doesn’t matter.
surrounded by people who don’t know that it exists. They In detail the old woman describes all the things she had to don’t advertise in the local papers, they don’t put up posters
do before she could take the root home with her. Some of
or hand flyers to pedestrians. Whoever needs their service
them make him blush.
will find them, they have made sure. The windows are dark
“And you really went there close to the new moon?”
and dirty, and there is no sign. However, sometimes people
“Oh yes, of course.” The old woman keeps a straight
will walk up to the shop and enter without hesitating.
face. If this is important to him, then he does not need the
The customer looks at the old woman with suspicious
plant for a love spell. He’s more likely to seek revenge.
eyes. His suit and expensive shoes show clearly that he is
Lover’s Root works splendid when it comes to revenge. The
wealthy enough to pay the price she asks of him. Her spine more your heart hurts, the better it works. Of course, all is bent, her hands resemble dirty claws, and she probably
magic has its price. Not only in money… and he will find out
doesn’t see much. Her eyes are cloudy and seem to look soon enough. right through him, while she goes on about how difficult it He is still hesitating, so she decides to share another secret is to find this special plant, this green treasure, in today’s with him. The one thing in the world that the Lover’s Root needs – the one thing which makes it this powerful – is a
forests.
Hours she had to climb through the woods, she says, virgin’s blood. She doesn’t have to be dead, the old woman
and not make a single sound while doing so. It was easy assures when she sees him flinch, a few drops now and not to talk, since she had to go all alone. Imagine, an old
24
again will be enough. She grins and tells him how, back in her youth, feeding the root was her duty. She passed it on
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
to her daughter and now her granddaughter. The plant’s
and care for the plants. I need your help with the buckets!”
life and her family’s power are deeply connected.
Finally, he hands her the money and puts the tiny
heavy buckets and pour the heavy, dark liquid onto the
plastic bag with the dried root in his pocket. He hurries to
artificial flower beds they have set up in the back part of
Ah, the fertilizer has arrived. They strain to lift the
leave the shop, as if, now that he got what he came for, the the house. Rows of daylight lamps hang over their heads, place is too dark and too filthy for him. He won’t return, the
speeding up the plants’ growth. The smell is almost
old woman knows it.
unbearable – stale, wet earth and something metallic.
As soon as he is out of sight, her back straightens
For years now they have been growing Lover’s Root here,
and her hands appear to be younger, as if by magic. She
no more hiking to the countryside. Life has become so
takes the contacts out of her eyes, which are shiny and much easier, but of course you don’t tell the customers. brown and sparkle with mischief.
All reference books state that the Lover’s Root is a very
Her granddaughter enters the shop through the back door.
rare plant, that it is impossible to cultivate it and that it
“Have you been messing with our customers again, gran?”
needs a very special combination of fertilizing minerals to
“Delilah, dear, you know exactly how stupid they are.
prosper. They really had to rack their brains over this last
You tell them the truth, they buy nothing. It has to be
bit, especially given the extra specifications if the plants
dangerous and exotic and witchy for them.”
were to contain any magic at all. But then Delilah came up
with the idea of using cow blood. Who said the virgins had
“You didn’t have to tell him about you dancing naked,
though. Poor guy! He looked as if he was about to faint!”
“You come to be my age, you know men are
disappointed if there is no being naked in witchcraft. Even if it’s an ugly old hag like me.” The young girl puts her arm around the old woman – she is almost a foot taller, and the older one seems to shrink
25
into the embrace with a beatific smile. “Come on, let’s go
to be human anyway? Dianna Linnemann is a writer, witch and crazy cat lady, currently working as a translator for the embassy of an Arab country in Germany. Her hobbies include reading, cooking, music and sports like jogging and swimming. She loves being on her own and playing with my imaginary friends. Previous publications: - “Grandmother’s Christmas Visit” in SoftWhispers Magazine, Christmas Edition 2009. - “Emerald”, published in the anthology “Thieves and Scoundrels” by Absolute Xpress in April 2010.
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Routine
26
Like always, this was all his fault. Who did Clarissa
think she was? He had a job. She stayed at home and did nothing. She expected him to take care of everything that went wrong in her life. If he would have known this
Griselda Santiago
was going to be his marriage, he would have killed her on
The small two story house sat at the edge of the
their wedding night. No, he would have killed her before.
curve. Facing out toward the street, it was easily the
worst livable house on the block. Some of the windows
her and threw his jacket with a little too much force onto
had cracks that had started a few years back and had
the couch. The kitchen was cold, impersonal. Nothing that
only increased in size with the passage of time. The once
showed that a family of three lived there. This didn’t even
white paint was no longer the beautiful color it had been
come close to the life he had envisioned.
when the house had been erected.
“You don’t want to argue? I wasn’t arguing.”
Vaguely he heard her voice rise in pitch. He had
Evan stepped up the rickety steps and took a deep
“I don’t want to argue tonight.” He stepped around
breath. The only thing that illuminated his way was the
already started to shut her out. He had learned long ago
lamp post at the side of the road. He turned the door
that it was better to just go through the mechanics, yell
knob and stumbled in, nearly losing his balance over a
right back. Pretend like he really cared about what she
small rip in the carpet.
was saying and act passionately without really listening.
Cursing, he closed the door behind him, only to turn
They had been through it so many times. She
around and come face to face with Clarissa, his wife.
would argue about this and that. Nothing consequential.
They wouldn’t remember they had a daughter who was
She didn’t have to say anything. It was there as
her eyes flashed, narrowing as she took in his slightly
probably frightened.
drunken stupor. Her mouth was set into a thin line. Dislike
radiating off her body.
what else to blame him for. First she would get her coffee
Any minute she would stop talking to think about
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
and sit down. She would stare at the liquid in her cup,
not sure why she had gotten it in the first place. The
her to the front door. She screamed and bit him as he
screaming would follow. He would respond and after
yanked the door opened. It slammed against the wall with
another long bout of her stupidity, she would storm out
a resonate thud.
of the kitchen. She would go into the living room, stand
there a few seconds, then she would head out the front
falling down the three steps.
door, slamming it on her way out.
he saw her, his little girl, standing out in the middle of
There it was. The blessed silence that would only
Following, he grabbed her arm roughly and dragged
He threw her out and she stumbled and tripped,
Evan was about to step back into the house when
last a few minutes. It was followed by the fretting, the
the road. Before he could even make a move toward her,
coffee, the staring.
there was a loud car horn followed by the screeching of
tires and his hoarse scream of agony.
He didn’t have to look at her to know what she
was doing. Instead, he looked out the window, not really seeing anything.
Griselda Santiago is 19 years-old. “Routine” is the first story that she tried to submit in anywhere.
“I’m leaving.” His voice was emotionless. Another
everyday declaration. Nothing else.
“Where?” Again the same question.
“What would you care?”
“Bastard!” He had expected the answer. He hadn’t
expected the hot coffee. It was the first time their routine was disturbed.
He turned to her. Angry that she had disturbed the
only thing he could count on. Minutes of arguing and once
27
more she stormed out of the kitchen. May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Piecing Together Family Andi Gregory Pearson
I married Marco in a beautiful ceremony in a lovely old church in L’Aquila, just outside Rome. My father gave me away and his wife, this chatty woman with our family tales to tell me, sat by herself in the wooden pew because
Who does she think she is? I can see her eyebrows
28
think of while she is talking and telling these stories.
that’s the way I wanted it. My father escorted me down
rising then lowering, her smile big then small. She tilts
the narrow stone aisle to Marco and then he sat with my
her head full of dark hair toward her left shoulder as she
mother in the first pew because that’s the way I wanted
talks. She is telling me the story of how my dad was
it. I wanted my parents sitting together so I could stand
named, how his father walked miles in to the small Polish
there in my white gown and billowy veil and look at them
village of Czachow to register his home birth; how his
together, sitting next to each other, in the old pew. They
father, my grandfather whom I never knew, filled out the
didn’t touch even though I had hoped they would but
spaces with the proper nouns Pawel which means ‘small’
my mother took my father’s arm as he escorted her out
and Milogost which means ‘guest,’ nouns that became
of the church at the end of the ceremony. They walked
my father’s name. We are all in a lovely restaurant
up the aisle connected at the elbows with my mother’s
in Rome and we are celebrating my 35th birthday. My
hand on my father’s arm and I smiled. My father’s wife
husband of one year is with me and my soon-to-be-born
walked up the aisle alone, just the way I wanted her
child is kicking me as I eat this expensive meal and drink
to. And she wasn’t in any of the wedding photos. I
this expensive wine. My father who is married to this
told the photographer to be sure she wasn’t. I wanted
intrusive woman told me I could pick any place I wanted.
my mother and my father in the photos with Marco and
I know the dinner costs nearly two week’s salary for my
me and that’s what I got. I made sure the photos, the
father and this gooey acting woman and that’s one of the
tangible memories of that day, are of me and Marco and
reasons I’ve chosen this restaurant. And this is all I can
my mother and my father. My father’s wife stood on
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
the edge of the group, next to the brick wall around the
her hospitalizations and how she would wander away from
churchyard, while the photos were being taken, while my
the house at night and my father would leave me alone in
memories were being made. There are no group photos
the darkness of my room to go walking down the streets
that include her because I wanted her left out.
of our neighborhood looking for her. I feel like I’m biting
When my daughter is six months old, I fly from Italy to Chicago to visit my father. He and this woman to
to sting him and cause welts to form on his guilt because
whom he has been married for a dozen years meet us at
that’s what I want.
the airport and she coos at my daughter and at me. She
In the evenings, when my father’s wife comes
hugs me and I remain as stiff as I possibly can, just as I
home from work, we sit on their patio and look out at
always do, and I hope she notices it. She asks if she can
the azaleas they have planted, a hot pink colored band
hold Ilena and I say yes and release her from the straps
around their backyard. We sip chilled white wine while
by which she is attached to my body. I’m so glad this
his wife talks to Ilena, dangles toys in front of her, holds
average looking woman works every day so I can spend
Ilena on her lap and reads her a book. Then we eat a
time with my father who is retired.
dinner his wife has cooked. She has bought cookbooks
The guest room in their tidy house contains a
29
my own teeth as I push words out with my tongue, words
and learned to cook Polish food, mastered several time
crib and changing table and they have installed a car
consuming dishes like pirogues and bigos and barshch,
seat. My father and I take Ilena and go out during the
because my father likes food from his childhood. After
day and while I have him alone in the car, I tell him in
dinner, we put Ilena in the expensive stroller they have
no uncertain terms what I think about his new life. I
bought for her and we stroll through their neighborhood
remind him of the yelling I had to endure while I was
admiring well kept lawns and stopping to chat with
growing up and how he and my mother argued over
neighbors who are out with their dogs or sprinklers. My
everything – politics, religion, child rearing practices –
father’s wife always introduces me as “our daughter.” I
everything. I bring up my mother’s mental illness and
hate her for that but my father always smiles when she
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
says it.
worked each stitch. I bunch the tablecloth up in both my
Marco and I have been married for five years
hands and I press it to my forehead where its coolness
and for Christmas, my father and his wife send me
seems to draw red rage out from me. I close my eyes
a white linen tablecloth embroidered with pale blue
and bury them in the coarse weave. I sit like this for a
designs. A letter is enclosed and it is written in his wife’s
full minute before I get up, holding the tablecloth in both
handwriting. It says the linen was woven on a home
hands, and go looking for the Scotch tape.
loom and the hand stitching was done by my Polish grandmother, Irenka, whom I met only once. My father’s
Andi Gregory Pearson won a prize in the St. Louis Writers’ Guild 2009 short story contest. Pearson tends to write about mental illness, dementia and women who struggle with who they are.
wife wants me to have it as a piece of our family history. She says she hopes I will use it and enjoy it and pass it along to Ilena along with stories of my grandmother’s life in Poland, stories my father remembers, like how, as a boy, he chased chickens around in the dusty yard of their tiny house so his mother could grab one, snap its neck and then cook it on the wood burning stove. Along with the homemade sauerkraut and crusty rye bread, the chicken became Sunday dinner. I tear up the note with quick, snapping movements and my mouth is tight like the zipper yanked closed on a coin purse. I look at the spotless tablecloth and lift it from the white tissue paper. I unfold it, open it out and very slowly run my hands along the embroidery where
30
I know my grandmother’s gnarled, veined hands have May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Seven Interruptions Robert Meade
door in the night, wanting to come in and sleep with mommy and daddy, sleep between mommy and daddy.
No, that isn’t right. There weren’t any children.
When we were first married he rushed home from
He said he didn’t want any and I said, fine but it would
work, shedding his clothes as he came upstairs so the
have been nice if you’d mentioned it somewhere between
bottom risers caught a jacket or some gloves and shoes
“Love you” and “I do.” I told him I wouldn’t keep taking
and then up the stairs came the tie, the shirt, the pants,
the pills because of the bloating and the headaches and
the undershirt, the briefs and then the socks. One sock
the nausea and my bra stuffed with briars. So he started
might make it into the bedroom, but I never liked it with
using rubbers and I had to go tell the doctor I had a latex
his socks on and so it had to go, peeled off and kicked
allergy and I described the dryness and itching and all the
into the bottom of the bed.
other symptoms I found on the Internet and he put me up
I waited for him under the sheets, taking him in my
31
babies anymore and started knocking at the bedroom
on the table with the stirrups and poked around in there
arms and rocking him until I rolled him onto his back and
like he’d lost a hundred dollar bill. He gave me some
surfaced between his legs. Then it was all apple bobbing
pills but I could tell he didn’t really believe me. “There’s
and him arching his spine and holding my shoulders until
always abstinence,” he said, handing me the prescription.
he couldn’t stand it and wrestling me against the mattress
I said thank you but I wasn’t two steps out the door
with my legs around him and my hands clutching his hips,
before I was saying you try it. You try it when you wake
drawing him in until after one last surge we lay spent,
up and he’s in you already with his hands up under your
gasping like entwined sea serpents suddenly pulled onto
nightgown and breathing heavy in your ear and biting
land.
your neck. Then the children came and got older and weren’t
But that’s what I wanted. I can’t lie about that.
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Be fruitful and multiply. I never bothered to fill the
stood behind him and leaned down for his laptop, bent
prescription. He caught me poking holes in the lambskin
over so I was very close to his face. I showed him how
sheaths and wouldn’t come inside me anymore. He
to fix it and then I fixed his collar so the tie wouldn’t stick
started being tired and sleeping out on the couch so his
out and he said thanks and I said anytime and twice on
snoring wouldn’t bother me.
Sundays. Around five he was still there grading those papers
I don’t have a couch so that can’t be true. But I did see him every day at school in the faculty room.
and talking to him to get him to look at me in my skin-
He sat there grading papers and I came into the room
tight outfit. I took off my sneakers and socks and shook
late as usual and said good morning and went to my
out my hair and sat like some yogi meditating on my
desk to add whatever I was carrying to the pile. To the
navel with the soles of my feet pressed together and my
mess. To the disorder that was my life. Math teachers
heels drawn up into my crotch and my knees trying to
are supposed to be orderly. I wasn’t but my subject was.
lower themselves all the way to the floor.
That’s why I liked it. There were methods and procedures
Do you know tantric I said and he said what and I
and steps to take and most important of all there were
said do you know tantric and he smiled and said he liked
answers.
the one where the woman lowered herself naked in a
He sat grading papers with that red pen, leaning
32
and I was doing my stretches on the floor after jogging
basket from the ceiling with her ankles behind her neck
on it so the point almost came out the back of the paper,
and the man lay on the floor on his back with a sock over
squatting there in his mismatched clothes with his tie
his erection and the woman said was there anyone who
sticking out from under the back of his collar. He said
needed his hose washed and then came down lower and
good morning back and tried not to stare at me but I saw
lower until she covered the sock completely through the
that he was following me with those eyes in the back of
hole in the bottom of the basket.
his head. He asked me some computer question and I
So I picked up my sock and grinned at him and he
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
put down the pen and came over and unzipped my suit
She called me up. Bitch she said, bitch stay
while I tugged off his pants and he lay on the floor with
away from my husband he’s not for the likes of you,
his tongue in my mouth and his fingers working my crotch
you pathetic piece of crap and furthermore as soon as I
while I put the sock on him and moved it back and forth
hang up we’re going to the precinct to get a restraining
until he shuddered and went limp. The janitor came in
order against you and then I’m calling your principal in
and gawked and left. We sat up, wondering if we would
the morning to file a sexual harassment charge against
be fired.
you right before I call the superintendant to report that you are not morally fit for your position you bitch you
We didn’t get fired because there wasn’t a
disgusting bitch.
janitor and there wasn’t any mutual masturbation on a
The next day I was put on administrative leave
commercial-grade carpet next to a leaky radiator in the
and reassigned to an elementary school at the far end
back of a faculty room in the early hours of a Friday night
of the district and put in charge of attendance. It was
in March.
all numbers and no human contact so they figured it was
He had a wife.
okay.
I always knew he had a wife but I figured there was a solution to that problem. I thought he was the kind of man who understood that the circumstances fixing him
it hurts less to think he was honoring monogamy instead
to the great cosmic coordinate system had two variables
of having to face the truth that he found me disgusting
and that I was one. I never figured he would just pack up
and vulgar. Avoidance is what I have instead of integrity.
his papers and almost run out of the room and go home
Compensation is what I have instead of self-worth.
to tell his wife about the crazy woman who talked dirty
33
Only there wasn’t a wife. I made her up because
Afterwards, he never mentioned it to me. He never
to him at school and who was always touching him and
came back into the faculty room, preferring a desk in
sticking her chest in his face.
the coaches’ office downstairs behind a door with a lock May 2010 eFiction Magazine
I didn’t have the key to. Sometimes I stood outside knocking, but he never answered.
numbers not numerals not mark on pieces of paper. One father called me up and wanted to know what
I was put on administrative leave a week later
was I doing with his daughter who came home crying
because of gross negligence, which is an antiseptic
and locked herself in her room and wouldn’t come out. I
way of saying I wasn’t doing my job. But I was doing
asked him where he got my home phone number and he
my job, just not in the time frame suggested by my
hung up.
administrators. How difficult is it to correct a set of problems, they would ask. Excruciatingly, I would answer, because each
on the phone to protect his daughter because he wouldn’t
homework assignment was the product of an twelve-year-
have known my home phone. I just wanted there to
old girl with all the psychic warts and pimples common to
be a father protecting his daughter with angry words
that age, with all the doubts and insecurities she might
and implied threats, even if she couldn’t finish her math
have about being judged because of some numbers she
problems or wasn’t a particularly good student or good
put on a piece of paper. And there wasn’t any way out of
girl or wasn’t really even his own biological daughter just
it. If she had the wrong answer she was wrong. I could
the only child of the woman he married whose husband
sugar-coat it by giving her partial credit for work shown,
had had a heart attack and died when the girl was eleven.
but in the end if the answer was wrong then it was wrong
A good father is hard to find.
and there wasn’t any way around it.
In the dark I can hear the other kind shuffling along
It didn’t matter how many times I had them over
34
Which is how I know there wasn’t a father calling
the corridor after my mother has gone to sleep, the wool
to my apartment or put my arms around them when they
socks stopping outside my door and the excruciatingly
cried because they couldn’t understand the problems and
brief pause before the doorknob starts turning and
tried to reassure them that they were okay that is was
making a squeaking sound like a close-up in a bad horror
only their math that was wrong and that they were not
film. The door is locked but he has the little key you
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
insert in the hole in the doorknob and he twists it and
the bed and onto the commercial-grade carpet staining
pushes the door open. The girl pretends she is asleep
the green threads with blood until there isn’t any more
but the mattress creaks in protest as he crawls onto the
blood left to come out. After the police come and the
bed and lifts up the bedclothes and pulls down her panties
hysterical mother is sedated, the EMS technician cleans
and she feels his hands up under her nightgown and his
up the girl who is otherwise unharmed and answers
breath on her neck and the socks scratching against her
the policewoman’s questions about what happened by
thighs.
nodding or shaking her head.
He turns her over, kneeling astride her, caressing
Justifiable homicide is the verdict. Self defense.
her cheek and whispering that he loves her and that their special love is a secret no one else can share. He makes her do things with her mouth, things no twelve-year-old
I used the scissors on myself, not him, and not at night
understands, that mouth with the tonsils that haven’t
in the bed but in the girls’ bathroom at school because I
come out yet and the tongue that likes strawberry ice
didn’t want my mother or him to find me. I didn’t want
cream and fudge and the lips that have never kissed a
them to touch me and I didn’t want to feel anything ever
boy. He moans and says sweet bitch little bitch. The girl
again. But I didn’t know how to do it and it hurt a lot and
is crying because she doesn’t want to do it but she has no
I cried even though I told myself not to and the janitor
choice anymore and she reaches between the mattress
found me in the bathroom huddled against the wall under
and the box spring and takes out the scissors she hid
the window I’d opened but was too afraid to jump out of
there and plunges them into the side of the neck of the
with all that blood all over my uniform jumper and on my
man who calls himself her father.
shoes and socks and puddled onto the floor.
Eye bulging, spitting blood, he tries to strangle
35
Only there weren’t any police or medical personnel.
Seven years I spent in therapy. That was all
her with whatever strength he has left in whatever time
the insurance would pay for. My mother divorced him
there is and she doesn’t resist. But he falls over off
when the details of the abuse came out in session. I
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
never wanted to face him in court and there wasn’t any evidence to back up my story and so it all became something recorded in a therapist’s report and sealed in a box down at the station house. I see him now and then in the neighborhood. I turn and cross the street and go up a side block so I don’t have to look at his face. I always carry scissors in my pocketbook. I tell myself that one day I will walk up to him and plant them in his neck. Avoidance is what I have instead of integrity. Compensation is what I have instead of self-worth. Robert Meade is a transplanted Bostonian now frimly rooted in New York. He lives in Westchester County with his wife and three children. A published author of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction, he has had his work appear in such ‘zines as Bartleby Snopes, Apollo’s Lyre, Guideposts, MicroHorror, The New Flesh, and A Twist of Noir.
36
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Favorite Dream Suzanne Haskew Midway sentries, swarthy gypsy men with hairy arms and faces, Tempt teenage lotharios and pot bellied husbands to impress their sweethearts. They stand before bazaar tents crying “Right here, getshrrr girl a teddy bear,” And “Everyones a player, and Everyones a winner.” For a thin dime you can catch a ride on the Merry-Go-Round, Tilt-a Whirl, Ferris Wheel, or Tunnel of Love. You can get lost in the Hall of Mirrors or fall on your face in the House of Mirth. The aroma of fried onions hangs heavy like a cloud around the many red stooled food bars. German church ladies sell a Sauerkraut topped Werst on a bun, creating a European perfume. The french-fry truck has a pungent vinegar that makes the fries taste great, And in the candy truck glistening white taffy twists and turns on rotating metal arms as bright red Candied apples glowed next to their caramel covered cousins. The Fair is a cornucopia of sound. The Merry-Go-Round goes toot-da-lee-ooo. The screams from the Tilt-a-Wheel prisoners become the pulse of the Midway. Raucous belly laughs echo through the fairground streets. And Goldie Giggles entices us into the House of Mirth. On the corner by the Merchant’s Barn “It slices it rices it dices,” Spews from the lips of a fast talking barker as he massacres yet another tomato.
37
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Blood Binds Episode 2
of sunburned highway. He withstood the discomfort for as long as he could, which spoke volumes since his sole mode of transportation happened to be a rust-eaten El Camino on it its last legs. By the time he went to ground, it felt like there were needles being driven into his eyes and giant burn welts were forming tracks across his face
Tonya Moore
and torso. As the darkness took him, he struggled to keep
Kyle felt it in the small hours, a sharp pain that
his worry at bay.
speared down his torso and intensified. For one horrifying moment, he was convinced that he’d been slashed nearly
As soon as twilight touched down, the warm earth
in half again. Bones crying out, he’d been yanked out of
began to shudder and shift. There was a blur of motion,
the deep sleep of the undead. Something really awful
barely a whisper of sound. Hunger clawed at his gut but
had happened to his friend, he knew it deep down. The
he wasn’t about to relent so easily with so much ground
sense of dread that overwhelmed him was so intense, he
still left to cover. It was painful and maddening but his
worried that she might already be dead.
worry was greater. He crawled into the junky heap and rolled the windows down. A few minutes later, the engine
Abandoning common sense, he emerged from
rumbled to life. He twisted the knob on the radio and
hiding and set out immediately. Blinded by the stupefying
proceeded to do his best to let the haunting wails of
jangle of nerves, he forgot to be mindful of the time.
Queen drown out his sorrow and anxiety.
He forgot to be diligent and was taken by surprise when dawn started to break out across the open sky. He was already halfway across the barren distance that separated his sanctuary in the Mojave from endless miles
38
Not until the moment he reached the door of Hel’s apartment, did Kyle realize that he hadn’t thought to
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
bring the key she’d given him. His fingers were poised to
Oh hell, it hurt.
ring the buzzer when the door opened. There was a grim looking man there, with a weird scar down one side of
Their furious voices dragged Hel out of the depths
his face. His frank, unfriendly stare rankled. Kyle disliked
of sleep. She stumbled out of bed and stalked out. She
him immediately.
stopped in her tracks, eyes widening at the dust-laden kid who stood just beyond the threshold panting. Charls
“Who the hell are you?”
was blocking him from entering, glaring at the would-beintruder.
“I would ask you the same question.” Kyle grinned gratefully when he caught site of her. The stranger’s unruffled retort irked Kyle but he
“Finally, a friendly face!” The first rays of sunlight were
more concerned about his friend and the deepening heat
creeping upward behind him. “Hel, tell the Neanderthal to
of the approaching dawn nipping at his heels. He tried
let me in.”
to shove his way past the annoying man but found his way blocked. The doorway was wide open but he couldn’t seem to set foot past the threshold at all.
Hel frowned. Kyle Watson’s invitation to my home was never rescinded. “If you’re really him, you should be able to walk right in with no trouble at all.”
“Where’s Hel?” Kyle demanded. What have you done to her?”
He scratched his head. “Look, I was in a hurry to get to you and I forgot my key and--”
He drew in a sharp, sudden breath. His teeth clenched. The tingling sensation on his skin intensified,
39
thousands of sharp needles boring into his flesh. It hurt.
His voice trailed away when he realized that she wasn’t even listening. Her sharp eyes were focused on
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
the strange man barring Kyle’s entry.
Her eyes flashed. “Charls, let him in or so help me-”
She pointed an accusing finger his way. Take it down.
“Fine,” the man grumbled. He brought one palm sweeping down in an abrupt motion. “If he bites you, I’m
“No.”
not going to lift a damned finger to help you.”
The man folded his arms and leaned indolently against the door frame. Kyle’s astonished gaze swung
Kyle was still trying to will his body to step inside,
from one to the other. There weren’t many who cared to
so the sudden absence of an opposing force sent him
test Hel when she took this tone but this man, whoever
tumbling inside. He surged toward Hel and grabbed onto
the hell he was, didn’t seem the least bit fazed by her
her shoulders, spun her around with glee.
annoyance. She laughed and tried to wriggle away. “Put me He frowned suddenly. “Wait... what?”
down, you idiot! What are you doing here? You know it won’t take long for you to pop back up on the queen
The bastard meant to let him burn, didn’t he?
Hel scowled at Charls. “I will not stand here and watch my friend die. Take the damned barrier down!”
bitch’s radar, right?”
Now, there was a long story she hoped Charls wouldn’t ask about right now. Back when Kyle’s best friend had turned him, Stefan’s sire hadn’t been too
“Why are you friends with a Night-walker?”
40
pleased about his act of subordination and had ordered him to kill Kyle. His little rebellion had resulted in his own
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
death and had it not been for Hel’s interference--Kyle’s as
body to have dissipated yet.
well. Stefan’s sire was known to hold a grudge so as soon as Kyle entered her awareness again, she’d be out for his blood.
“Kyle? Sweetheart? When was the last time you fed?” She actually managed to sound calm and maternal, betraying none of her steadily rising panic.
“I don’t care about that anymore.” He eyes grew serious but his smile stayed in place. “I felt it,” he said
“It’s been days and days. No time. In a hurry.
quietly. “I thought you were going to die and suddenly I
Hmmm, I’m so glad you’re safe,” he muttered dreamily.
didn’t care. I’m tried of living in hiding. It’s lonely in the
He rubbed his cheek against her’s, an old habit but he
desert.” His voice took on a petulant edge.
didn’t stop there this time. “You’re warm, he murmured thickly. “You smell so sweet.”
Something in his tone sent an uneasy tickle down Hel’s spine. She gently tried to extricate herself from
His arms tightened around her some more--
his embrace but his arms tightened around her. Fear
painfully. Hel’s heart slammed in her chest so hard it
blossomed. She swallowed it down. She glanced over at
was a wonder it didn’t just leap right out. He was hot
Charls. He was watching them with shuttered eyes.
and feverish in the few filtered rays of daylight that penetrated the thick curtains. His presence of mind was
Blast. He’d realized the crucial thing that she
slipping. When he moaned drunkenly, a cold sliver of fear
hadn’t. It wasn’t just concern that had propelled Kyle into
coiled around her heart. Her panicked glaze slid sideways.
her arms. It was also because she’d been badly injured so recently. With the aid of Charls magic and the one within,
41
“Get him off me!” She mouthed silently at Charls,
she was already healing at a phenomenal rate but not fast
who pointedly stood there with his arms stubbornly
enough for the enticing blood smell that seeped from her
folded, yet seething. He shot her a mean little smirk and
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
shook his head.
“Charls, do something already!” She hissed.
Kyle was skinny but tall. He’d been barely
She needn’t have spoken. It seemed finally, the
seventeen when his best friend turned him. He had a
contrary man had had just about as much as he could
scared sort of vulnerability, an almost girlish sort of
stomach. He moved quickly, faster than her eyes could
delicacy. At the moment, Hel couldn’t seem to remember
follow. One moment he was halfway across the room,
that he was any of those things. His strength was
in the next he had an arm curved around Kyle’s head,
tremendous. He’d gone too long without feeding again.
dagger at his throat.
His face had taken a gaunt and vaguely monstrous
“Back away, Night-walker.”
aspect. The shadows under his eyes gave them a really desperate, sunken-in look. She was frozen, didn’t dare
There was power in his voice, compulsion. His eyes
make a sudden movement or give in to instinct and resist.
glittered fiercely. Kyle released Hel abruptly. His arms
That would probably just send him right over the edge
fell to his sides, hung there limply. At the curt nod, from
and she was in no condition to fend him off.
Charls, she moved a few paces back and he didn’t follow. He was the picture of stillness, head cocked slightly to the
Her heart slammed in her ribcage. There was a flash of warmth. Her face was an almost comical mix of
side. His eyes were clouded over, unseeing gaze arcing downward. She turned to nod jerkily at her husband.
embarrassment and panic when Kyle’s fingers twisted into the straps of her camisole and tugged downward. His
42
“Thanks. If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a
head dipped low. His tongue traced downward, forging a
million times, not to not skip--” Her brows shot upward
searing path down the side of her neck.
in dismay upon noticing that his lips were moving. “Wait, what kind of incantation is that?!” May 2010 eFiction Magazine
neck. He watched the way she cringed. There was a tight, Charls ignored her. The tip of his dagger was turned
humorless smile.
upward, piercing the flesh of his palm. “Now then,” he turned to Kyle. “Shall we step outside?”
“Isn’t he?”
He marched purposefully toward the door and Kyle
Her eyes hardened. “Release him. Now, please.”
followed mechanically. Hel scrambled to get ahead of them. She reached the door first, blocking their path.
There was a low chuckle. “And if I don’t?”
When Charls stopped, so did Kyle and he stood there like a statue, waiting to be led outside to die.
“Oh for god’s sake, look at him!” She railed. “Can’t you see? Take a really good look and then tell me you
“Don’t!” She gasped. “Don’t hurt him.”
don’t understand.”
“Why are you friends with a Night-walker?” Charls asked again.
For a few seconds, he was speechless. His shocked yes bored into hers. “Hel,” he managed gruffly, at length. “This thing is not a replacement for our son.”
“He’s not the kind of Night-walker you know.” She shook her head, swallowed hard. That old, “He’s a monster.”
familiar ache had lodged itself in her throat and it sat there, making her eyes burn.
“He is not.” “I never said he was.”
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Charls reached out, a rough finger traced along her May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Charls sighed heavily. “What do you want me to do
judgment may not be so sound anymore.”
with him then?” He reversed the dagger and stepped back. Hel “In my bedroom, there’s a walk-in closet that
couldn’t make out the actual words of the incantation but
lets no light in from outside.” She pointed vaguely and
a few moments later, Kyle’s eyes unclouded. He raked a
followed them.
shaky hand through his hair. His voice was thin and oddly strained.
“Convenient. What about blood?” “What just happened?” He glanced in bewilderment. “Mine.”
“When did I get in here?”
“No, you really can’t afford to lose any more right
He moved towards Hel.
now.” “Stay where you are.” Charls blocked his path. He She bit down on her lower lip, considering. “He can’t have mine.”
made a sweeping motion with one hand and Kyle fell to the ground like a stone. He was aware and furious this time but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
Hel blinked, sliding the closet door open. “What on earth made you think I’d suggest giving sorcerer’s blood
“Now sleep.”
to a vampire?” That was all it took. Hel flipped the light switch, Charles walked in so that Kyle would follow. “Well,
44
you seem so awfully fond. It stands to reason your
drenching the closet in darkness. She closed the door. “What now? Is he going to suddenly wake up in a few
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
hours?”
interfered with time, in our efforts to reclaim Garrit.”
Charls shook his head. “Theoretically, it should be
How exactly could she have ever explained it to
until nightfall since his body’s predisposed to sleep during
Kyle, that he was the child who could have been their son
daylight.”
but was nevermore?
“Good,” she stretched thoroughly and made a
“Does he know?”
beeline for the kitchen. “That gives us enough time then.” “No.” Hel swallowed hard, looked away. “It wouldn’t “For what?”
be fair to him would it?” She ushered him out of her bedroom, closing the door behind them. “But Charls, we
She smiled brightly. “He needs sustenance and I
can’t leave him behind when we--”
know suppliers. Some will even deliver. I’ll make a few calls, as long as you promise not to kill the next person who comes knocking on my door.”
The walls shuddered. A rumble came from deep down in the ground. In a split second , the air had become charged. Every inch of Hel’s skin tingled. Her
Charls didn’t acknowledge the verbal jab. He was staring down at her intently. “Helioselene, he’s not Garrit.”
mouth filled with the taste of burning metal. She gagged on the smell of rot and torn earth. Charls had gone pale his staff had materialized, a knobbly length of polished
“No but when I met Kyle, I learned that his mother and father died when he was very young. His destiny
wood. He brought the tip down and struck the ground. Hel’s heart tripped. It became difficult to breath again.
was stolen away from him. At the time, I couldn’t help
45
wondering whether that was because you and I have
“Do you feel that?” He asked.
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
fingers encircled her wrists. The wraith-like figure of a girl Hel let out a bewildered squawk. “Did we just shift
kept flashing in and out of her awareness.
dimensions?” “It’s really you!” She heard the choked, almost He frowned suddenly, shifting the staff sideways.
hysterical laugh. “I finally found you!”
“Take it!” Hel’s vision blurred, then brightened. A pair of He was a fraction of a second too late. Hel yelped,
over-bright black eyes met hers. Their owner was thin,
letting the staff fall as pain shot down her elbow. The
malnourished looking. Her hair was wild, a dark blue
air around her sparked and crackled. The screaming
streaked with red. She was young, barely as old as Kyle
whirlwind bit at her skin drawing blood and stealing her
probably. What was a kid like that doing wielding such
breath. Charles was shouting and straining to reach out to
heavy magic?
her but he seemed to be getting farther and farther away. She was busily running her palms up and down Her throat was raw. Was she screaming? It was too
Hel’s arms. Hel stared down at her in shock and
loud. She couldn’t tell. She gasped, lungs begging for air.
consternation as her wounds closed and disappeared.
It felt like swallowing razors. Her knees caved. A shadow
Something in the core of her being throbbed. It was the
fell over her, arms outreached like the wings of a great
dragon’s potential steadying her as the child entered its
bird. Everything receded to a grainy dark.
awareness. Despite her shuddering heart and the fact that she still couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, what Hel
The melee stopped as suddenly as it had started. Charls was out cold on the floor a few feet away. When
46
felt toward this pint sized invader wasn’t fear. It was something else. It was...
did that happen? Her mind was mired in quicksand. Bony May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Familiarity. Recognition. Affection.
“I can’t imagine what you must have been through,” Hel murmured. She shot Charles a chagrined look. “Devan
He heard a vicious oath. Charls roared leaping to his also carried a witch’s potential.” feet. He lunged for his staff, heaving it upward. “That’s a frightful legacy, isn’t it?” Charls was Hel screamed as he pointed it at the newcomer and began yelling an incantation. “Don’t! She’s my kin!”
Charls faltered. “What?” He frowned down at the stranger clinging to Hel. “Are you certain?”
spinning his staff distractedly. “I think I’m beginning to understand why the powers that be want all of you dead.”
The staff stopped spinning. “I know this place,” he announced. “Pyogia Flatlands. Coil 3332.” He was already picking his way across the wreck that had been made of
“I’m sure.” Hel finally got her arms to cooperate.
Hel’s living room. “You’ll have to tend to her by yourself
She grabbed the girl and drew her close. “You’re a
while I have a look around. Her magic is too fresh for me
wayfarer’s child. Isn’t that right?”
to touch her.”
The girl nodded jerkily. “My father was Devan. My mother was a Seer.”
The front door tumbled down and daylight came flooding in. Hel watched his back, shielding her eyes against the onslaught of brilliance.
She was trembling violently. The moment Hel’s warmth surrounded her, she started sobbing helplessly. Hel ran a hand through their distraught visitor’s hair. It was still charged with energy. It made her fingers tingly.
47
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Jersey Surf
shuddered.
Even though she wasn’t feeling music, Natalie was also making a lot of money. As the head waitress, she was given the VIP area to work. But she had her own problems. Because she was in charge, she had to appoint
O p e n i n g We e k e n d Glen Binger
who walked around the crowd serving shots off a tray and who actually served tables. The girls held grudges if she appointed them to serve shots all night. It meant being
Bass echoed in the cavity of Zach’s chest. Every
felt up by drunk guys for five hours.
time DJ Joe-Joe spoke into the mic, Zach felt his eyeballs vibrate. The main speaker was right next to his bar and it
“Hey when are you taking your break?” asked Natalie.
stressed him out. Trying to serve drinks to all the drunks while literally feeling sound in the core of his body was
She leaned in close to hear Zach’s response. He shook the
difficult. But he made it work; that’s why he had been
metal shot-mixer and poured five Jolly Rancher shots.
appointed to head bartender for the summer. 10pm Friday night, Memorial Day weekend and Zach had already made
“I don’t know,” he yelled.
about five hundred in tips. The night was only half over. “Well, let me know, so I can take mine then, too!” “Ayyeee-yooo how all my peoples out there at CLUB SURF
48
tonizzight?!” DJ Joe-Joe auto-tuned his voice.
“Yeah.”
Zach felt the words ‘club’ and ‘surf’ against his eyelids. He
Natalie placed the five shots on her tray. “Hey, can I get
May 2010 eFiction Magazine
five Bud Light bottles, too?” “What’s up, bitch,” Pete yelled, passing Zach on the way Zach reached into the center cooler and quickly de-
to the cooler. “You’re slackin’ tonight.”
capped five beers. Zach nodded. “What can I get you?” He asked a blonde “What’s wrong?” She yelled.
girl in the corner.
For the first time during the entire conversation, he
“Is it your period,” Pete laughed on the way back with
looked her in the eye. He didn’t respond; instead, he
beers in his hand.
walked to the other side of the bar and started helping customers.
“You’d like that,” Zach yelled, mixing a drink for the blonde.
“Uhhh, okay.” she shook her head and turned back to the VIP.
Zach was off his game tonight, even though it was the first night of the season. He reasoned that he was allowed
Pete worked the same bar as Zach. He was the only other
to, despite the fact. Tonight he learned something about
well-experienced bartender; thus, making serving at
Pete that he didn’t take too easily.
the main bar a necessity. The two had grown close the previous summer season, as they should have bartending
“Are you still pissed about the Natalie thing?” Pete yelled
together. Whenever there was a break in the wave of
while pouring shots of Grey Goose.
orders the two would make small talk. Eventually, the
49
small talk turned into banter and jokes about the size of
Zach looked up from the drafts he was pouring. “Kinda,”
each other’s genitals.
he yelled. May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Pete shook his head and ran the shots over to the muscle
“And?”
man who ordered them. The conversation ended there. Serving drinks did not.
“That’s it.”
Later, on break, Zach and Natalie were upstairs at the bay
“You’re upset over a fling that happened a year ago?”
window looking down at the crowd. It was a sea of human beings.
Zach moved from the window and sat on a desk. “Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a douche-bag.”
“So?” asked Natalie. She followed and stood next to him. “You are being a “So,” Zach replied.
D-bag!”
“You gonna tell me what’s buggin’ you tonight?”
“Whatever.”
Zach palmed his jaw line.
He pulled out his phone and pretended to text someone.
“Come on,” she continued, “why are you being an
“Fine. Whatever, I gotta go back downstairs.” She went to
asshole? What the fuck is going on?”
the door.
“It’s the whole you and Pete thing!”
He set the phone on the desk. “I just don’t get why you couldn’t tell me before. Like why did Pete have to tell
50
Natalie eyed him, expressionless.
me?” May 2010 eFiction Magazine
to work. Stunned, Zach stood in the middle of the office Natalie turned around. “I wasn’t aware that you needed to and grabbed his phone with a clammy hand. Even if she know my entire life’s story.”
had given him room for a response, he had nothing to say. The comment struck him deep; down inside of his
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He stood up. “Pete’s my
stomach where only the potent emotions live and breathe.
friend. It’s different.”
His tan six-foot frame felt miniscule and pale. He strutted over towards the window overlooking the sea of people
“So what?”
again. His torso ice over and ached dull. The feeling traveled all the way up his esophagus into his mouth. It
“Why couldn’t you tell me before we slept together?!”
tasted as if he had licked a nickel; chalky and silver. He was a lesser man.
“What does it matter?! Ugh!” Linda and Chris walked in, surprising Zach. Zach sighed and Natalie turned back towards the stairs. He didn’t follow her; he still had ten minutes on break.
“What are you doing up here?”
“I’m over this,” she took the first step down. “No, you
Chris turned to her, “He’s probably on break. Its okay,
know what,” she paused and came back into the room. “I
Linda, no need to snap.”
slept with Pete. A couple of times. He is bigger than you. But who cares?! I’m not fucking him anymore. I’m with
“Whatever,” she turned to Chris. “We’re already behind
you. And if that isn’t enough then just fuck off.”
the planned income, Chris. We may have to reschedule some events later in the season if this keeps up.”
51
Without time for a reply, she went downstairs and back May 2010 eFiction Magazine
“It’s only five hours into the night. Relax.” He smiled at
“No, why?” She questioned, misunderstanding the subtle
Zach. “This is why you should never get married, kid.”
humor.
Zach nodded awkwardly, forced a laugh, and left his break
Pete overheard him while mixing some shots.
ten minutes early. “Dude, stop. What the fuck are you doing? That last guy Downstairs, an hour and a half until last call, he served
didn’t tip us.”
drinks in a weak stupor. An unstable smile plastered itself between his lips, illuminating when he served
“Fuck off,” Zach smiled.
an attractive female. He started picking things apart, exposing the inner disgust in everything.
The teethy expression still fake.
A young guy flagged Zach down; “Hey bro, can I get a
“What?” Pete served the drinks.
Long Island Iced Tea and a Cosmopolitan?” Zach ignored him and went to the other side of the bar “Sure thing, lady.”
where he bumped into one of the servers who Natalie had appointed as a shot girl for the night. He recognized her
“I’ll have three Miller bottles, please,” a slightly
face and slender, petite structure from the staff meeting a
overweight woman said.
few days ago.
He couldn’t keep a straight face. “Do you want a menu to
“Hey Zach,” she yelled. “Zach!”
look at, as well?”
52
“Yeah?” May 2010 eFiction Magazine
“I need a refill.” She pointed to her empty tray.
Zach smiled again to accompany the still-smiling Kim. He filled her tray with the plastic, cylinder-tube shot glasses
Zach thought for a moment before speaking. She was
and she trotted off into the ocean of drunks. Pete nudged
pretty and knew his name.
him in the back with an elbow, trying to ease the tension from earlier.
“Sure, but I need your name and phone number first,” he smiled.
“What’s that all about, eh?”
She smiled. It was nice to be hit on by someone sober.
Zach nodded, finally forgetting about the drama from before. “Planting the seed, Pete. Planting the seed.”
“Why?” Meanwhile, Natalie spent the rest of her shift serving one “Well, I need your name so I can record the alcohol I gave
party in VIP. Everyone else had left the area in attempts
you in the inventory.” He paused. “And the number’s for
to find someone to have sex with. Two men dressed in flat
me.”
black suits sat next to each other beneath the canopy on a circular red sofa. Surrounding them were five women,
She blushed but it went unnoticed in the poor lighting and
all wearing dresses as tight as their skin; two neon-pink,
musical vibrations. “I’m Kim.” She smiled. “And I’d give
two black, one white.
you my number but I don’t have a pen.” “Miss?” said one of the men, “Can we get another bottle “Uh huh, so is that the excuse you gave everyone
53
of wine?”
tonight?” May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Natalie checked her watch: 1am. Only a half hour until
made her a shot girl – just so she wouldn’t have to listen
last call.
to it all night.
“Sure. Do you want the same?”
“I’m going to get a shitty tip, too. I know it.”
“Please. Thanks.”
“It’s okay. Could be worse. Could have guys grabbing your ass all night,” Kim laughed.
She went into the VIP liquor room, adjacent to the VIP restrooms, and uncorked another bottle of cheap, but
Natalie chuckled. “True.”
expensive-looking wine. She brought up the party’s tab on the register and added another twenty-five dollars to
“Hey, by the way, do you know anything about that guy
the list.
Zach? The head bartender?”
“They’re getting another bottle?” asked Kim, walking by
Natalie set the bottle down and stepped back from the
to the staff restroom.
register for a moment.
“Yeah, it’s ridiculous. They aren’t even buying good wine.
“Yeah, why?”
Those sluts they’re with don’t even notice. I’m kicking them out at 1:30, I don’t care.”
“I dunno. He’s kinda cute. He asked me for my number before.” Kim smiled.
“That sucks, I’m sorry, Natalie.” “Did he?”
54
Kim’s brownnosing was nothing new. It’s why Natalie May 2010 eFiction Magazine
“Yeah, when I went to refill my tray.” “Thanks, baby,” said one of the men. Kim laughed, unaware of the relationship between Zach and Natalie. Natalie smiled and paused before responding. She shook her head and walked over to the bar just outside of the velvet rope separating VIP from the main “I think you should go for it.”
floor. Something needed to happen; Natalie wasn’t going to let Zach ruin her night. Besides, they weren’t really
“You think?” Kim blushed.
dating yet, anyway.
“Absolutely.” Natalie straightened her face. “He is pretty
“What’s wrong?” asked a familiar voice.
good-looking. I hear he’s good in bed, too.” Natalie turned around to DJ Joe-Joe’s smiling, sunglass“Hm, okay then,” she smiled. “We’ll talk more later.”
Kim walked into the restroom. The decision was already
covered face.
“Nothing.” She smiled. “Why aren’t you up on stage?”
made. Natalie picked up the bottle, printed out the check, and brought them out to the party.
He shrugged. “Eh, I’ve got it on a loop. No one seems to notice at this point in the night. I’ll get up there at last
“Here you go guys. I brought your tab, too because VIP
call.”
closes in a half hour. Just a heads up.” She laughed. “Oh, I see. Better not let Linda see you.” Natalie caught the woman in white eyeing her but didn’t
55
pay attention to it. Her mind was elsewhere.
The crowd of people had started to thin out. From the May 2010 eFiction Magazine
main bar, Zach could see Natalie and DJ Joe-Joe talking.
hello there.” He started collecting the tips with Pete.
Just talking. And, from the same distance, Natalie could see Zach watching her have the conversation. She batted
“What are you guys up to tonight?” She asked looking
her indigo eyes on purpose.
only at Zach.
Zach nudged Pete with an elbow. “Hey man, sorry about
Afterhours at Club Surf usually consisted of an informal
before,” he said without taking his eyes off Natalie.
staff party from 2am to somewhere around 5am including waitresses, bartenders, security, and sometimes the
Pete stopped collecting the leftover tips around the edges
performers. Even Chris and Linda liked to occasionally join
of the bar counter. He looked at Zach looking at Natalie,
the festivities.
smiled, and went back to gathering the money. “Probably hang here for a little while then go back to my “No worries, man. Good luck with that.”
place. What about you?” Zach smiled.
Zach stood still, focused on his jealously across the way.
Kim winked; “Maybe the same. I dunno, we’ll see.”
“Yeah.” Back across the floor, Natalie watched Kim and Zach Suddenly, Kim trotted over and popped up at the main
converse. DJ Joe-Joe had to run back on stage to sign off
bar. “Hey guys!”
and say goodnight to all the leaving patrons. The second Kim winked Natalie made up her mind. She got up and
Pete nodded, “Sup, Kim?”
went back into the VIP area to collect the check; which was completely in cash.
56
Zach turned towards her; his back facing Natalie. “Well, May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Two hours later, DJ Joe-Joe was telling Natalie about how complicated operating his turn-table was at the main
“I’m actually in grad school now, over at Monmouth
bar. Most of the staff were accompanying them, but all in
University.”
different conversations. The tips had been counted and divided and the second half of the night had finally begun.
“Really?” Zach returned a smile.
“Oh, so is that the knob that makes your voice sound
“Yeah, I’m going for my MBA.”
funny?” Natalie could hear Kim smiling. “Yeah. It also, depending on how hard I twist, makes the music go in and out.”
“That’s cool. I wish I had the money and time for that.”
“I see.”
He caught eyes with Natalie.
“I mean, the crowd usually lets me know whether or not
“Yeah.” Kim took a swig of her drink. “I have to go pee,
it’s appropriate, you know?”
I’ll be right back.”
“Totally.”
“Alright,” said Zach, turning back to her, “I’ll be here.”
He kept talking but Natalie wasn’t listening. Her eyes
Zach looked up, again. “What?” He silently asked Natalie’s
were on Zach and Kim, four or five bar stools over. She
heated eyes.
could slightly hear the discussion, even though Kim’s back
57
was towards her.
She didn’t even respond with body language. May 2010 eFiction Magazine
Instead, she cut DJ Joe-Joe off before he could explain the
“Yeaaahhhh,” Pete yelled.
difference between the A and X models of his synthesized turn table. “Hey, let’s get out of here.” She grabbed his
He removed his arm and stumbled over to a waitress
hand.
Zach didn’t recognize. Kim hopped back onto her bar stool.
Zach felt the absence of the musical vibration sink into his torso. It felt cold and tasted like nickel, again. Although,
“How was your pee?” Zach laughed.
this time the pain was sharper and struck deeper; into his chest.
She stared at him for a second, realized he was joking, and shook her head. “Let’s do some shots,” she said.
The drunken disc jockey obliged and followed Natalie away from the bar, out into the parking lot, and into
“Absolutely.” He needed them. “I thought you’d never
Zach’s lusty, sex-crusted imagination.
ask.”
He sighed. “Shit.”
“You’re the bartender,” she laughed, “make us something good.”
Pete suddenly slapped an arm around his shoulder. “What’s up buddy? Why so down?”
Zach reached over the counter, grabbed several bottles, and poured four shots.
The volume of his voice louder than sober. “Oh, babe,” she touched his arm, “I only wanted one.”
58
“Nothing.” Zach looked into his beer. May 2010 eFiction Magazine
He put the bottles back. “Okay, I’ll take three.” “Wait, what’s funny?” Zach pushed her off of him, She smiled, unsure if he was joking or not. “Well, I guess
stretching a cramp in his left leg.
I can take two. I need a minute in between though.” In a drunken state Kim was unable to filter thoughts. Zach nodded and slid two over to Kim, then held one up at lip-level.
“Nat’s right; Pete’s bigger.”
“To Kim, the sexiest waitress I know.” He smiled.
She blushed and poured the liquid into the back of her mouth before swallowing. Zach slopped his straight down.
Five minutes and five shots later, Kim led Zach to her SUV by hand. Conveniently, it was parked in the darkest corner of the staff lot. The two were mostly quiet climbing into the back seat. Zach tripped on the edge of door jam and chuckled. Kim giggled. Once inside, he closed the door and Kim began unzipping his fly. Zach kissed her as she removed his bartender uniform. Her eyes still locked with his. He peeled off her uniform shirt, unlatched her bra, and then slipped off her pants. For the first time, she
59
looked down at his nakedness and giggled lightly. May 2010 eFiction Magazine
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May 2010 eFiction Magazine