Cat Scratch Fever

Sara took her dog to the vet and sat in the waiting room for half an hour. The dog strained forward on his leash every time someone new walked through the door. It was easy to tell the dog lovers from everyone else: they either smiled or stooped to pet Dixie. The non-dog lovers simply gave him a wide berth with a sour expression on their faces and sat across the room.

One woman walked in with a carrier full of cats that she'd rescued. She quickly moved out of Dixie's range and sat with her mewling box of kittens as close as she could to the examination room door.

The woman sitting next to Sara scowled at the kittens and leaned over to Sara. "Those are the nastiest animals in the world. That's what my doctor told me. The nastiest in the world."

Sara wasn't sure how to respond. She tightened her grip on Dixie's leash and gave the woman a half-smile, even though Sara had two cats at home.

"I got cat scratch fever last year and it like-ta killed me. Nasty." The woman shook her head and frowned at the cat rescuer. "I've had the worst year of my life. No, the worst ten years of my life. My husband got killed by a drunk driver. Then my son's apartment caught on fire. And his truck blew up. Then I got scratched by some cat he was trying to rescue and I nearly went blind. I can't even see! So I got these special glasses. $669. And then they were stolen out of my car. My phone charger and my glasses." She shook her head again.

"And now this one is about to break me." She held out the tiny chihuahua she's been cuddling to her chest. "He's having seizures. We've been in here twice already this week. I think I'm cursed."

Sara wasn't sure what to say. She shook her head compassionately and then concentrated on the words of the country music song playing overhead.

    Mama's addicted to Mary Kay.
    Brother's addicted to Maryjane.
    Daddy's addicted to Mary, two doors down.

"By the way, my name's Mary," the woman said and stuck out her hand for Sara to shake. Sara switched Dixie's leash to her left hand and started to reciprocate, but the woman suddenly pulled her hand away and held it close to her chest as she clarified one point. "You two aren't here with something contagious, are you? That would be my luck."

Sara shook her head and let the woman briefly shake her hand before the receptionist mercifully called Dixie's name.

After the Festival

"Look, Mom! A man on stilts!" Lily ran toward the carnival worker and watched in awe as he juggled and danced atop his long-legged stilts. A group of children gathered and Jeremy performed, acting as though he were about to topple over before finally creating balloon animals for each of the children to carry home.

The festival ended and the workers began tearing down their booths and displays, tucking away the crumpled dollar bills that had been handed to them one-by-one during the course of the day. Lights flickered out and staffers yelled their good-byes to each other as they exited toward the campers set up behind a line of trees to the side of the festival grounds.

Jeremy tottered over to Lori, who was just pinching the padlock into place on her elephant ears booth.

"What do you say we get out of here and find something decent to eat?" Jeremy asked her.

"Anything but fried food," Lori agreed. "And sugar." She sniffed her shirt. "Sorry. I stink like powdered sugar. Job hazard."

"Just goes with how sweet you are," Jeremy said.

"Ha ha. Like I haven't heard that before."

She and Jeremy started walking toward the camper alley. "I'll just pop in my trailer and change real quick. Which one is yours?"

Jeremy pointed to a retrofitted tour bus. "That's mine."

"Wow. It's big. Well, I'll meet you back out here after we get changed."

Jeremy nodded toward the bus. "Meet me there. We'll take my wheels."

Lori quickly scrubbed herself clean, hoping to wipe off some of the clinging residual sugar scent. The clean shirt helped, but when she grabbed a chunk of hair and held it to her nose, she knew it was a lost cause. The odor of frozen dough and confectionery sugar was ever-present. She hoped Jeremy wouldn't mind too much.

She hurried down to his bus and knocked on the door. Jeremy opened it with the push of a button and Lori climbed aboard.

"Oh," she said as she stopped abruptly on the stairs. "I thought you'd be ready."

Jeremy shrugged. "I am."

"But-," Lori stopped. Jeremy was dressed in black now, instead of the carnival red and white stripes. "You're going to keep wearing the stilts?"

Jeremy looked straight ahead through the over-sized windshield. He'd found it best not to watch the looks on other people's faces when he told them the news. "They aren't stilts," he said. "It's a birth defect. My legs are unusually long. There's nothing I can do about it."

Lori remained frozen on the steps. She examined his legs as they stretched from the gas pedal of the bus, all the way back to where Jeremy sat in a custom-fitted seat designed for his height. She'd been about to ask if this were some kind of joke, but Jeremy's monotone and stoic demeanor told her it was not. She let her eyes travel further, up his stiffened frame to the tight clench of his jaw. He stared straight ahead, waiting for her final judgment.

She followed Jeremy's gaze to the now-darkened field. She remembered his charm as he wandered around entertaining the children; his friendly smile and approachable manner. She remembered watching his languid steps as he roamed around the grounds, promoting fun and festivity.

Lori loosed her grip on the bus rail and stepped up so she was level with Jeremy.

"I'd kill for a salad," she said.

He smiled and his shoulders relaxed. With a flick of a button, he closed the door.

Wanted: Female Companion

Wanted:  Female companion; must love being around water

20-something male seeks female who wants to frolic au natural in warm locales where we can swim and enjoy all aspects of water sports and play.

I’m good natured; I’m told that I have an irresistible smile, even-tempered, somewhat exotic in appearance, and not afraid to show my feelings to the world.

Only females who can appreciate my sense of humor, hearty appetite, happy-go-lucky nature, and my quirky smile need apply.

Braced for the Interview

Angie shut off the ignition and checked her reflection in the mirror. No lipstick on her teeth. Her hair was in place. She practiced a smile and watched her facial expressions as she introduced herself. The woman in the car mirror looked confident. She was ready for this. She was.

Angie unlatched her seat belt and let it zip back into place. She grabbed her laptop bag and purse and stepped out of the car. A flutter of nerves racked her stomach. Was the laptop bag too much? Would it seem like the prop that it was? Maybe she should leave it in the car. She reached for the handle and started to open the door, then decided against it. If nothing else, it gave her hand something to hold and might abate her sweating palms.

She smoothed her skirt and crossed the street, searching the buildings for the address she'd written down when she was called for an interview. 341 Main Street. The man on the phone said that she would mainly be a receptionist, but that there were some office managerial responsibilities, too, and some straightening up around the office. That all seemed fine to Angie. The main thing she wondered was whether there were benefits. She needed health insurance.

321 Main. 331. The next building must be it. Angie smoothed her skirt again and readjusted the laptop bag whose handle was getting moist in her hand. She took a deep breath and braced herself for the interview. Then she looked up.

Her nerves turned to dread. She felt her skin crawl and resisted the urge to scratch herself. She wasn't sure  if she could bring herself to open the door. She didn't want to work here, but she couldn't turn away, either. She needed that health insurance.

Resigned, she pushed against the glass door and walked in.

Connersville

Harold gently set the train engineer into place. It was the last piece of his project.  He sat back on his stool, bracing his hands on his knees and surveyed his work. Connersville was finished. It was his masterpiece. It had taken him six months and more than a few hundred dollars to create. When Jean was alive, he'd hidden this expense from her, stealing time from evening chores to putz around in his basement and assemble smaller, more compact train towns. But now she was gone.

He devoted hours -- days, even, to gluing tiny figurines into place. He visited trains shops and antique malls to find just the right tracks and signs and model kits to use. He made a town that he'd want to live in; one that reminded him of being a young boy. He and his friends had loved to wander near the train tracks, looking for hobos and cast-offs from the trains that went by. People nowadays didn't understand how important trains were.

Harold perused Connersville a while longer. He wished Jean were here to see it. She wouldn't understand it, might even have begrudged it, but at least she would have been there with him and might have enjoyed watching it with him for a bit.

He rose from his stool and grabbed the control pad. He flipped the switch and the train whirred to life. It traveled down the track, past the saloon and bakery. Past the bank, the post office, the school, and the town hall. It went into the tunnel through the mountain and past a lumberyard where a platform waited in case the train stopped to unload. It travelled around the myriad of tracks, with a few whistles of the horn. Harold let the railroad crossing sign pulsate its signal as the cars stopped on either side and eagerly watched the train whiz by.

Then the train looped back in front of him. It had made its full journey through Connersville and had nothing to do but loop through again. Harold shut it off and surveyed the stillness. The train had passed through and the town remained the same. He could watch its same pattern later tonight. Or tomorrow. He could sit in his basement and run the train through Connersville as many times as he wanted. There was no one to stop him. No one else even knew Connersville existed. Nope. Harold had a whole town in his basement now and no one else even knew.

Swim Lessons

This is so embarrassing, Corky thought to himself. All my friends already know how to swim. They get to go out in the ocean and everything, while I have to learn how to swim with the tadpoles. It isn't fair!

"Come on, Corky!" Coach Bach bellowed. "Kick those legs! Harder! Faster! You need to get to the end of the pool if you want to get out of the water today."

Corky rocked back and forth as he paddled his feet. He felt himself sinking and struggled to keep his head above water.

"Just dog paddle," one of the baby frogs whispered to him right before he shot forward and surpassed Corky in the water. Corky kicked a little harder in the frog's wake, but then sputtered to a stop and let his shell submerge again.

I'm not a dog. Or a frog. Or a shark, or dolphin or fish. I'm a turtle and I don't want to swim anymore, he thought defiantly. The coach swam up beside him.

"I'm going to tell you one more time, Corky. Kick those legs or you're going to be soup."

Crab Feast

The waiter emerged from the kitchen’s swinging double doors with a platter of crabs held high above his head. He weaved through the tables and came to a stop in front of the Arnsworth family. Mr. Arnsworth  sat up taller in his chair and adjusted the waistband of his pants. He grabbed a roll from the basket on the table and cleared his throat. He was ready to eat.

Mrs. Arnsworth smoothed the linen napkin in her lap. She folded her hands in her lap and smiled at the waiter as he presented their seafood feast. She mentally calculated the astronomical amount of calories contained in the small bowls of melted butter. She shouldn’t indulge, but she did love butter. She licked her lips and breathed in the aroma of seafood and salt air. This was her vacation! A little butter wouldn’t kill her.

Robby sat still in his seat, staring at the mound of red shells. Just that afternoon he’d played with hermit crabs scuttling across the sand. His mother didn’t even know that he’d kept one of the crabs in a bucket. He was going to take it home and keep it as a pet.

The waiter set the tray down with a flourish. He straightened up and smiled brightly at the Arnsworth family. “Who’d like a bib?” he asked. No one took him up on his offer. Instead, they wished him away and turned their attention back to the delectable bounty before them. All but Robby, who frowned as his family began transferring crabs to their plates. His plate remained empty as his family began passing the butter. It came to him, but he kept his arms at his side.

“I want grilled cheese.”

Transylvania Course Catalog

Oddly enough, Transylvania University is located in Lexington, Kentucky.

SPRING 2012 COURSE CATALOG:

CULINARY ARTS 101: Learn how to make scrumptious Italian dishes without using garlic and create new twists on old favorites such as blood pudding and ox neck stew.

ADVANCED DENTISTRY: Students should take the pre-requisite INTRODUCTION TO FANGS.

PSYCHOLOGY OF VAMPIRE HUNTERS: Learn who they are, how to spot them, and why they carry mirrors, Bibles, holy water, crucifixes, and wooden stakes with them.This course will cover traditional eastern European hunters through modern hunters such as Buffy and Van Helsing.

GOTHIC LIT: Reading materials will include works by Anne Rice, Bram Stoker, Sheridan Le Fanu, Stephen King, Stephenie Meyer, and Laurell K. Hamilton.

PHILOSOPHY 101: Immortality: To Be or Not to Be?

GEOGRAPHY: Intensive look into the geography of Transylvania, Romania and Wallachia and the migratory paths of vampires.

INTRODUCTION TO GEOLOGY: Removal and transference of native soil. (Concentration on Dracula's hindered attempts to travel.)

FILM-MAKING 101: We'll discuss the cinematography needed to create vampiric special effects such as twinkling diamond-like skin in sunlight, bending a victim's neck for optimal view during the bite, the sudden appearance of fangs and claws, transmorphing from vampire bat to human form, and how to show movement so fast that it cannot be seen by the naked eye, nor captured on film.



Guest Post: Mirror, Mirror

by Josie

     Dorrie would not let herself look away.  The woman staring back at her in the mirror was not a pretty face.  Not an aged-nicely face, nor a handsome face, not cute and not comely.  With her hair pulled back it was nearly a masculine face:  square and too many lines to hide with make-up.  So what are you going to do, Old Girl, she asked her reflection.  The truth could not be ignored and she may have to just live with it.  She turned her head from side to side and appraised what she saw.  Then she picked up a hand mirror and studied her profile.  A loud guffaw escaped  her mouth as she remembered that in junior high school she was in the yearbook as having the prettiest profile!  How many decades ago was that? she asked the mirror.

      Okay, Dorrie, she addressed her reflection, what can we do to fix this old gal up a bit and make her presentable?  No amount of skin creams, from Ponds to Lancombe had eased the distinct lines around her mouth and above her top lip.  She drank enough water in a day’s time to fill a bathtub, still to no avail.  My dad’s face was deeply lined, she thought, even when he was rather young.  So I guess I’m trying to fix something where genes have the trump card? she asked the woman in the mirror.

      A big sigh as she released the towel holding back her hair.  That sure sounded like my mother, she thought.  Hmm.  Actually the hair with all its soft curls helped some of the severity, she mused.  I know, I know, she continued to talk to herself, more is less when it comes to eye shadow and mascara.  Thankfully, her daughter had steered her away from the blue lids and eye liner she wore in much younger days.  Okay, that’s good.  No clumps on the lashes and no drama above the eyes.  Oh! she said as she realized she was supposed to put on real foundation tonight, sheer, but enough to cover some of the sun splotches (do not call them liver spots!) on her face and even out the tone.  And use a sponge, Mom, not your fingers to blend it in.  Dorrie looked at the improved image in the mirror and asked, Is this what Angelina goes through?  Blush was tricky; what was the rule?  Start in the middle of your cheekbone and sweep up.  Don’t create a clown face with rounds of red on your cheeks.  I hear what you’re saying, Liz! she called up to the ceiling as she imagined that Liz Taylor was her make-up goddess angel. 

      Dorrie’s hair was full when she took the towel off, but now it was limp and she never did look good with it around her face.  She pulled it up.  She pulled it back.  She ratted it with her comb, and then smoothed it over.  Noooooooo! she threw the comb across the bathroom.  I am just not a person who has every hair in place!  Man, I would like to be, but I am just the mussed up hair lady.  That’s who I am.  Dorrie ran her fingers through it, and then lightly brought it up to a cascading bundle of curls in the back.  She fished for little tendrils at her temples and mussed her bangs.  Better, she thought.  Just as she was applying a delicate peach-colored lipstick, her doorbell rang.  She panicked!  My date is here! she yelled at the resulting image in the mirror.  Why am I going on a blind date at 70? she chastised herself.  She blew her breath into her hand to check for offensiveness, but she passed that test.  Dorrie walked to the door and cautiously opened it; her heart was up in her throat.

                A pleasant man, obviously someone around her own age was standing in the doorway.  His eyes twinkled and his voice was something like Grandpa Walton.  “Well,” he said, “I have a date with Dorrie Underwood.  You must be her daughter.”  Dorrie heard herself laughing and it sounded like a school girl. 

Out, Leprechaun, Out!

A flicker of light caught Katie’s eye through the kitchen window. It came from the shed out back, though there shouldn’t have been anyone in there. Everyone was here in the house for Katie’s birthday party. Or were they? Katie glanced around the room. Who was missing? And what kind of surprise did they have up their sleeves? Katie smirked at the thought and then snuck out the back door. The surprise would be on them, this time. She’d catch someone in the act before they had a chance to spring another surprise on her.

Katie tiptoed through the grass, careful not to let the sound of her footsteps on the brittle grass make too much noise. As she approached the shed, she saw that there was indeed a light inside; flickering fire light, if she wasn’t mistaken. She’d already had her birthday cake. What were they planning now?

She hesitated outside the door, listening for voices before she entered. She wanted to figure out who was trying to trick her, but the only sound she heard were muffled, low tones and a moan that she couldn’t identify. That low moan gave Katie pause. Perhaps she shouldn’t enter the shed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

As she debated whether to turn around and head back to the house, she heard her friend Lydia’s voice rise with intensity.

“Renounce the demon,” she said emphatically. “Exorcise him from your soul.”

Chills ran through Katie’s body. She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Her hand remained frozen on the door latch as her body struggled with flight or fight.

“Help,” she heard another voice call weakly from inside. An old voice. Trembling and frail. It sounded like her grandmother.

Katie tugged the door open. Lydia’s head whipped around. Her body remained poised over the prone figure of Katie’s grandmother. In her hand, Lydia held a metal cross, steaming with heat. Katie stared at the fire in the small hibachi next to Lydia. Her mind couldn’t make sense of the scene before her; her best friend crouched in the darkness with a fire inside the shed, her grandmother trapped and cowering beneath her.

“Katie –“

“What are you doing?”

Katie stepped forward and Lydia spun around, thrusting the hot cross toward Katie. Katie backed up, taking in the oven mitt on Lydia’s hand, the burn mark on her grandmother’s wrist, and the agonizing moans emanating from her grandmother as she grasped her injured wrist and tried to rise.

“Stay back, Katie.”

“Lydia, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

“I’m saving her soul, Katie. Your grandmother is possessed.”

“Possessed? Grandma, are you okay?” Katie tried to peer behind Lydia, who moved forward to block Katie from her grandmother.

“She’s got a demon in her, Katie. I’m getting it out.”

“What are you talking about?” Katie took a step toward Lydia, ready to brush past her, but Lydia swerved into Katie’s path and thrust the crucifix close enough to Katie’s skin that she could feel the heat. She paused, debating whether to run back to the house for help, but afraid to leave her grandmother here alone with Lydia.

“Don’t worry. I know how, Katie. We learned about exorcisms at our church. I know what I’m doing.”

“Lydia, this is crazy.”

“I need to do this, Katie. She’s got an evil spirit inside of her. You even said so. I’m trying to save her.”

“I didn’t say that.” Katie glanced behind her toward the house. Had anyone noticed her coming out here? Would anyone else see the firelight from the window?

“You called her a leprechaun. You and your mother said she’s always playing tricks, working her magic. That’s not Christian, Katie. Magic is the devil’s work.”

“Oh my God. Lydia, we were just kidding.” Katie lunged closer to her grandmother, but Lydia cut her off again.

“I’ve seen the demon in her with my own eyes,” Lydia said. She stood stock still, the weight of her knowledge filling her with an authoritative demeanor Katie had never witnessed before in Lydia.

“Lydia, she isn’t possessed by a demon. She isn’t really a leprechaun,” Katie pleaded.

“Katie, I know this is hard for you, but she is. I saw proof. She’s carrying a bag of gold.”

An image of a small green bag with dollar signs and a rainbow ironed on immediately flashed through Katie’s mind. “That’s my birthday present, Lydia. That’s what my grandmother gives me every year. It’s a joke because my birthday is on St. Patrick’s Day.”

Lydia tilted her head and put the crucifix-free hand on Katie’s shoulder. “Katie,” she said softly. “It’s alright. I’m going to make your grandmother all better.”

Lydia turned her attention back to Katie’s grandmother who still lay on the floor, cradling her burnt wrist. Lydia moved toward her, holding the hot crucifix in front of her as she began her incantation.

“Oh, Jesus, Lord our Savior. Protect this— Ow!” Lydia jerked around as Katie pinched her.

“You’re not wearing green,” Katie said.

Lydia sighed. “Katie—“

Katie reached out and pinched her again, hard enough that it would cause a bruise.  She nipped her arm, her stomach, and her waist.

“Ow!” Lydia yelped.

“It’s St. Patrick’s Day. You’re supposed to wear green.”

“Katie, I’m trying to do something important here. I’m trying to exorcise the leprechaun from your grandmother.”

Katie shook her head. “It’s not going to work, Lydia. You’ve got the wrong person.” She reached up and tucked her hair behind her tall, pointed ear.  “She’s not the leprechaun, Lydia. I am.”

Behind Blue Eyes

Chloe crowded next to her friend Amy. "I dare you to put this in your pocket." She held a silk scarf furtively to her side.

Amy glanced down at the wiggling fabric in Chloe's hand. She froze momentarily, feeling her pulse race even while her heart seemed to stop. A wave of panic flittered through her bloodstream. She'd never stolen anything before.

Amy searched her friend's face to see if she was kidding, as Chloe rubbed the silk against Amy's hand. "Take it," Chloe urged her again.

Biting her lip, Amy scanned the space around her. There didn't seem to be anyone watching. She didn't want to steal it, but there was a part of her, a small, secret part of her, that wondered what it would be like to take it; to commit a crime and get away with it. She didn't want to do it, but at the same time, she did.

She inched closer to Chloe so that their bodies were essentially smashed together. Then she grabbed the fabric from her friend's hand and wadded it up into her own before slowly dropping her hand into her pocket.  Her palms began to sweat. It wasn't too late to pull the fabric back out and place it back on the display table. She fingered the fabric in her coat, then made her decision. She released the silk and pulled her hand out of her pocket.

"Let's go," she nudged Chloe, adrenaline coursing through her. She quick-stepped toward the entrance of the store that lead back into the mall and had just crossed the threshold when she heard a beeping alarm go off.

Amy froze. Chloe hurried toward her and pushed her out into the mall as a security guard moved toward her. He stopped the girls in their tracks as another store staff member rushed to the scene.

"It's in her pocket," the store employee told the guard. "I saw her put something in her pocket."

The guard stared at Amy and held out his hand. "Empty your pockets, please."

Amy started to hyperventilate. She pulled the silk from her pocket and imagined herself in jail. Her mother was going to kill her. They would show her picture on the news. The police would know her name. She'd have a record.

"I'm so sorry," she said as the guard took the scarf from her hand. He grasped her arm lightly and re-directed her back into the store toward the office.

The staff member nodded toward the mannequins as they passed. "I knew putting security cameras inside their heads would work."

Trapped

This was my entry for the WritersWeekly Winter Short Story Contest. We were tasked with writing a story that began with this paragraph:

Blue ice stretched to the horizon, fading into the blinding rays of another waning winter sun. She shivered violently as the shifting mass groaned under her feet. She instinctively glanced down, looking for cracks under the transparent sheen. Suddenly, she tensed and dropped to her knees.

Desperately clawing at the ice, she screamed.

Mine continues below.

Her wail carried on the wind, a sound she’d never made before. She heard the low, raspy air escape from her lungs and knew that none of her friends underwater could hear her through the ice.

She pounded on the translucent frost again. A salmon stilled with the motion and she tried to raise her voice to its previous pitch, but without gills she could not make the sound. Having lungs made her voice too hollow.

Crystal dropped heavily onto the thickening ice, feeling the strange sensation of cold against flesh. The sun dipped below the horizon leaving pale streaks of pink and lavender stretching faintly in the sky. Approaching night looked so different above the water, Crystal realized. She wondered whether it could ever get as black as it did under the waves.

A hawk circled overhead. She watched it briefly, wondering whether it might dip down to the water for a fish. She thought to track the bird and see where there was still water to slip into; find a spot where the ice wasn’t so thick that it couldn’t be cracked. The glacier had moved so abruptly. She’d never thought her quick adventure onto land would turn deadly. She’d never realized that water could be so elusive in a land of ice.

The hawk flew westward, out of sight. Crystal’s eye caught another movement behind her and turned to see a bear lumbering toward her, its nose in the air. She thought she must still smell slightly of fish, though her scales and tail were now gone. She peered down at the feet that only hours ago had been flippers. Only a little webbing between her oddly-shaped toes remained. Her legs were nearly two separate entities, no longer gracefully combined into one powerful extension. The human body was so awkward, she thought. No wonder the other mermaids kept their distance when a person happened to fall into their sea.

By now the pastel sky was blackening and Crystal felt the drop in temperature as she shivered uncontrollably atop the ever-thickening ice. She stood and hugged her arms around her body; a futile endeavor against the quaking chill of her body. She howled into the night sky and heard an animal howl back. She forgot her cold for a moment and stood in wonder of the sounds of the world above water. She’d never thought that earthbound mammals might communicate with each other the same way the dolphins and whales did below.

The trouble was, she didn’t know what that animal was saying, or how to tell it that she needed help. All she could do was howl again, slamming her feet down in frustration as the last bits of northern lights melted away.

The ice seemed even firmer, even more resolute in its plan to keep her from returning to the world beneath it. She was trapped on earth with her ill-equipped skin and painfully-frozen lungs. Only a hawk, a bear, and an unknown creature crying in the night knew her fate. Her father would wonder where she was, swimming the oceans in search of her. He’d never think to look above the crest of the waves to the place where ice made land. He’d never expect that she’d disobeyed everything he ever taught her and was now in human peril.

She felt drops of water inch down the stiff skin of her face. It was salty, like the sea, and seemed to mock her. There was very little of her left at this point. Just a few wisps of scales and silt evaporating in the frigid air around her.

She gazed down at the black ice beneath her. She saw the ghostly outline of her pale white feet. The webbing of her toes was nearly gone. She bent down and scratched furiously at the last remnants of her former life, releasing a faint odor of fish that both excited and calmed her. There was just enough trace of fish oils left, she thought.

Then she turned to the black space behind her and peered into the darkness, extending her fishy fingers in front of her.

“Come and get me,” she beckoned.

It took a few moments then Crystal felt the trembling ice beneath her as the space before her moaned. The bear’s breath was warm, if fleeting.

Flower Wars

"I've really got to concentrate on this memo I'm drafting. I think I'll go into a huddle room so I can focus. I'll be in there if you need me, okay?" Sheila said.

Katherine wanted to slap the saccharine smile off Sheila's face, but nodded instead. "Sure. I think we can hold down the fort without you." Sheila faltered for a moment. "In fact, work usually does go on just fine when you're not here."

Sheila squinted and let her eyes dart around the cubicles. There was no privacy in their small office. She was sure Amy ducked her head to smirk, but maybe she was just looking for a paperclip or something.

"Okay," Sheila continued. "I'll be right around the corner."

Katherine turned back to her computer, but movement outside the window caught her eye. A man in a brown jacket slammed the back door of his van shut and balanced two bouquets of roses in his arms as he walked up the path to the company's main entrance.

Katherine's heart dropped. Valentine's Day. She'd almost forgotten all about it. She hated this day in the office; all the smug smirks from the chosen few whose husbands or boyfriends made a public display of themselves. The corny cards that swooned with sentiment. The self-congratulatory hugs that her co-workers gave themselves and each other as they gushed and teared up over the alleged undying devotion of their significant others. Katherine doubted any of it was sincere. If they were so consumed with love, why did it take a Hallmark holiday for them to show it? She didn't see flowers arriving by the dozens any other time of year.

Her phone rang, and Katherine turned gratefully toward it, away from the spectacle of love outside her window.

"Katherine speaking."

"Katherine, this is Jeannie at the front desk. I've got a flower delivery down here for Sheila Anson, but she's not picking up her phone. Could you come down and sign for them?"

Fire rose from the pit of Katherine's stomach, moving up her chest and throat like a cannonball. She whipped her head around toward the huddle room where Sheila had conveniently disappeared. She knew now that it had been planned. Sheila must have seen the van pull up outside and decided to turn her Valentine gift into an office occasion. Katherine was tempted to tell Jeannie no, that she wouldn't come down and get them. But Jeannie would just call someone else.

"Sure. I'll be down in a minute."

A million ideas swirled through Katherine's mind as she slowly trudged down toward the main lobby. She could throw the flowers in the garbage. But she knew she wouldn't. She could hide them somewhere and feign ignorance when Sheila asked her where they were. She could dip them in ink and turn them black. Or vomit on them, like she really wanted to. She could put them in water and knock the whole thing over on Sheila's desk, ruining her computer and all the papers she had stacked there. She kind of liked that tactic. She wouldn't really be messing with the flowers at all.

She continued debating plans as she carried the deep red roses back up to Sheila's desk. The cloying perfume of them assaulted her with each new step. Katherine couldn't wait to put them down. She knew, in the end, she'd do nothing. It was the same thing every year: flowers on half the women's desks, grim pretenses that it didn't matter on the faces of the rest of them. Next year she'd remember to take Valentine's Day off.

Not surprisingly, no sooner had Katherine set the flowers down than Sheila emerged from the huddle room. Guess the memo hadn't taken as much concentration as she'd expected.

"Oh my gosh! Are those for me?" she exclaimed as one hand fluttered to her heart and the other covered her lipsticked mouth in mock modesty. "I can't believe Johnny did this."

She reached for the rose-covered (overkill, Katherine thought) envelope and pulled out the card. Sheila bit her lip to contain her smile, a move Katherine knew was intended to come across as bashful for her audience, because make no mistake: everyone was watching. But what Katherine saw surprised her. Sheila's brow furrowed and her smile went flat for a moment. Her mouth formed the word 'who' before she silently gasped and hurried to stuff the card back into its envelope and plaster a big, bright smile on her face.

"He's so sweet," Sheila concluded and sat back down at her desk. The performance was over. Everyone could go back to work now. But Katherine wasn't fooled. She knew that Sheila usually  dragged her performances out. This was much too brief.

After a few minutes, Sheila quietly rose from her chair and plucked the card from her bouquet. She hurried toward the Ladies' room and remained there for at least 15 minutes. When she reappeared. Katherine thought she looked fresher than ever. She'd apparently re-applied her make-up. And she remained unusually quiet. Sheila pushed the bouquet to the edge of her desk and began clacking on her keyboard. Katherine was starting to enjoy this Valentine's Day more and more.

She followed Sheila's footsteps to the Ladies' room and was glad to find it empty. She lifted the top few wadded up paper towels in the trash basket and then spotted the tell-tale rose card. As excited as a treasure hunter, she darted into a stall with her bounty. She was about to find out what secret Sheila had tried to hide. She pulled the small cardboard square out of the envelope and read Johnny's note:

Angie, these flowers pale before your beauty. I can't wait to hold you in my arms tonight.

All my love, Johnny

For a moment, just a moment, Katherine felt sorry for Sheila. But more than that, she felt happy. This was her best Valentine's Day ever.



Guest Post: The Doughnut Eating Champion

by Izzy

                It was a normal day in Loco, Oklahoma and Fred had just moved in. Boxes were everywhere. It had been the first day of school and he had not known something was coming later. Fred was eating doughnuts with his dog, Doughnut. He was eating a chocolate glazed donut. Doughnut was eating a jelly filled donut. “Yummy!” Fred exclaimed, “This is delicious!”

                Donut barked excitedly in agreement. They both looked at each other and decided to go get ten more doughnuts for them to split for breakfast. Fred walked out and looked both ways. No one was there that was a relief. Fred hurried to the bakery going as fast as possible. For him it was a sprint there but to everyone else it was a slow run or jog.

                Oh no, Fred thought, this couldn’t be. He saw a boy from his school who would beat Fred up if he walked past him. Fred acting fast hurried and maneuvered himself over a fence to avoid him. After he got himself over the fence he rushed to the bakery once again.

                When he got to the bakery he smelled the delicious scent of pastries baking. When he walked up to the counter he ordered four chocolate, three glazed and three jelly filled doughnuts. When the cashier gave it to him he rushed out the door and then saw his one and only friend Ryan.

                “Hey Ryan!” Fred yelled but Ryan never noticed. Well there’s always later, Fred thought positively, he will have to notice me then.

                When he got home Doughnut greeted him excitedly.  Fred dropped two jelly filled doughnuts into Doughnuts dog bowl. Doughnut ate them before Fred could even put some on his plate. Fred bit into one of his doughnuts right when Ryan walked by. Fred noticed Ryan and ran outside.

                “Hey Ryan!” Fred yelled. Ryan heard him and looked around until he spotted him. Fred then walked up to Ryan and said,” I tried to get your attention earlier but I guess you couldn’t hear me. What’s up?”

                Ryan answered, “The sky, the cloud, birds, planes, everything. I’m just kidding I didn’t want to tell you but I’m going to have to go to a privet school.

“Really?” Fred asked solemnly.

“No I’m just kidding!” Ryan said.

“Good. Bye.”

Fred walked back into his house. A couple minutes later the doorbell rang. Fred answered it.

“Hello, someone told me you were the fastest eater in your town and I was wondering if you wanted to be in this Americas Top Doughnut Eater.” 

“Um… exactly who are you?” Fred asked.

“Oh sorry, I’m Jack, and I’m the host of Americas Top Doughnut eater or A.T.D.E for short,” Jack answered.

“Oh well let me think about it for a minute,” Fred said. A thoughtful moment passed. “Okay I’ll do it.”

“Great just sign here,” Jack said holding out the contract. “Just sign on the bold X.”

Fred signed the contract on the line and then asked, “When and where will it take place?”

“Tuesday, August 12^th,” Jack answered joyful that someone finally joined the competition, “Be at the bakery at noon. The competition starts at 1:00pm.”

Fred said thanks and shut the door. He went and sat down on his couch when it hit him, Tuesday was tomorrow! He hurried and stuffed the doughnuts that he was trying to eat earlier that day. He whistled for Doughnut to come and then said, “Doughnut we’ve got some training to do.” Doughnut barked excitedly at that comment and then leaded Fred outside onto their porch.

“Let’s go to the bakery and get more doughnuts. Maybe thirty this time,” Fred said directly to Doughnut.

They then ran to the bakery. They asked the baker for thirty donut and the baker looked astonished. She had worked at the dirty little bakery for twenty years and had never gotten an order this high but she gave Fred the doughnuts anyway.

As soon as Fred got the doughnuts and rushed outside.

“Time me.” Fred said to Doughnut,”I need to eat these fast if I’m going to beat the competition.” And right after he said that he started eating. “Done!” Fred yelled and looked at the timer. He had eaten all of the doughnuts in ten minutes.

After he told doughnut his time they went home because it was 8:00 and Doughnut had wanted them to watch “Elmo’s Big Victory”. Once Fred realized what doughnut picked out he shouted, “Hooray you picked out my favorite movie ever!”After the movie was over Doughnut and Fred went to bed to rest up for the morning.

It was morning the next day. Fred started practicing for the big competition by gnawing the air. Then he said to Doughnut,” I’m ready let’s go.”

They walked there because they wanted to save Fred’s energy and because it was only 11:00am. They had left early to get Doughnut a good seat. By the time they got there, got through the line, and got Doughnut a seat it was already 12:59pm and Fred was sprinting to the stage so that he could get there on time.

Fred luckily got to his spot right when Jack announced,” The rules are simple, only stop and go when I say to and finally, no barfing! Now ready set go!”

Fred started eating like a maniac. Fred ate two, three, four; by the time five minutes were up, Fred had eaten twelve! By the end Fred had eaten twenty-six!

At the end Jack announced the winners. “In fourth place eating twenty doughnuts is… Bob! In third place eating twenty-two doughnuts is… Elena! In first place eating twenty-six doughnuts is… Fred! Congratulations to all of you!”

Everyone cheered and started to leave but Ryan and that tough kid from the day before stayed behind. It was that moment that Fred realized that he had just won one million dollars!

Fred saw Ryan and the other guy walk up to him and he snapped out of it. The tough kid talked first, “Hey I’m Nathan and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out.”

Fred replied,” No because until now you have bullied me.”After that remark Nathan walked off leaving Fred and Ryan behind.

“So how does it feel now that you’re the coolest kid ever?” Ryan asked Fred.

Fred thought it felt amazing because now he would not get bullied like in the past and he could buy everything he wanted but instead he said,” No different, I’m the exact same just richer.”

Boys' Day

An hour into “Boys’ Day,” Joan was reconsidering whether bringing her three grandsons to an amusement park was such a hot idea. The 11- and 12-year-olds were having a blast. They’d run off together as soon as they could, racing for the mega-roller coasters that 6-year-old Jeremy was neither brave enough, nor tall enough to ride. Instead, he was abandoned to the company of his grandmother, who was determined to make sure that Jeremy had as much fun as they did, no matter the personal sacrifice to her own enjoyment of the day.

“Can we ride this, Grandma?” Jeremy asked as they passed in front of the Scrambler.

Joan pasted on a smile and bit her lip. She knew the ride would wreak havoc with her back, but it was one of the few rides that Jeremy could go on outside of Kiddie Land. “You sure you want to? It looks like it’s going pretty fast.”

Jeremy nodded and tugged her toward the line. They watched the passengers before them spin toward them and then whip away. There were a few squeals of excitement and one or two from people who sounded scared. Joan watched her grandson’s face, trying to gage whether this ride might be too grown-up for him. Though his eyes grew wide as he watched the heads and arms of children flail in their seats, he eagerly pulled his grandmother along and ran to an empty car once they passed through the gate.

The attendant strapped them in, pulling their seatbelts firmly across their laps and then fastened the pin lock into place. Joan and Jeremy grinned at each other and then the motor began to whir into action. Jeremy gripped the handle bar tightly, his round eyes saucers of excitement. Joan held on, too, hoping to hold herself in place so that the motion didn’t jar her back too severely.

The ride picked up speed, slamming Jeremy into his grandmother with each criss-crossing pattern. He giggled and yelled as Joan grimaced with the force of his small body ramming her in the side. Who knew how bony and sharp one little body could be.

As the ride slowly wound to a stop, Joan let out a sigh of relief. It hadn’t hurt too badly, though her stomach was a little unsettled. Sharing Dippin' Dots with Jeremy beforehand might not have been a good idea. Still, she’d survived it and the smile on Jeremy’s face made her minor discomforts worth it.

The teenaged attendant came to their car and released the lock. They struggled forward to step down from the ride and dizzily searched for the exit sign. Jeremy spotted it and grabbed his grandmother’s hand, ready to run as fast as his little six-year-old legs could carry him.

Joan braced herself. She knew what was about to come next. Jeremy pulled her along, his body quivering with anticipation.

“Let’s ride it again!”

Torturous Colleagues

Medieval torture device

Bev was waiting at Carrie’s desk as Carrie walked out of her meeting. Her footsteps slowed and she quickly ran through escape scenarios in her mind. Bev’s demeanor said it all: something had transpired while Carrie was in her meeting, and Bev was looking for the only ally she thought she had.

Carrie plastered a smile on her face, determined not to let Bev drag her into whatever new drama she’d created.

“Hey,” Bev said pitifully as Carrie dropped a stack of papers on her desk and lifted her phone receiver. She didn’t have any voicemails, but hoped Bev didn’t know that and would be deterred under the assumption that Carrie was busy. Carrie punched in some numbers as Bev stood behind her, plaintively sighing and whispering, “Can I talk to you?” The phone ruse didn’t work.

“What’s up?” Carrie asked brightly, even as her lips flattened with the force of her smile. She checked her watch; one last-ditch effort in deterring Bev before she got started.

“I was a bad girl. I snapped at Jody while you were in your meeting.”

Carrie quickly turned toward Jody, who stared with a little too much concentration at her computer screen. Carrie noticed the headphones plugged into her ears; something Jody didn’t usually wear.

“But I apologized to her,” Bev continued. “Didn’t I, Jody?”

Jody’s back remained an unmoving wall of stillness.

Bev pursed her lips. “Oh, I suppose she’s not talking to me now. Jody. Jody!”

Reluctantly, Jody turned her head and Carrie saw the flush of her cheeks and the hooded look in her eyes. Jody removed one earphone, but said nothing.

“Jody, tell Carrie that I apologized to you.”

Carrie and Jody locked eyes. Two deer in the headlights of a barreling truck. Carrie wanted to stop her, to thwart this further humiliation of Jody, but she was too stunned to speak. Jody did instead, saying flatly, “You apologized,” before turning back to her inconsequential computer screen.

Carrie took in the stiff resolution of Jody’s back as Bev pleaded for her attention again. “See? I apologized,” Bev insisted.

“You shouldn’t have snapped at her in the first place.”

A look of alarm passed over Bev’s face as she realized that Carrie might not side with her. “My head hurts,” she said, pressing her hand to her forehead as her lip quivered.

Carrie looked toward Jody again, whose muscles hadn’t moved. She’d seen enough. “I’m going to lunch.”

When she returned, Bev was standing at her desk again, a piece of paper in her hand.

“Carrie, would you mind taking a look at this? I’m thinking of applying for a new job.” Carrie took the paper from her hand and glanced toward Jody’s chair. It was pushed in. Her desk lamp was dark, her computer shut down.

“Where did Jody go?”

Bev’s shoulders hunched defensively. “She left. The boss pulled me into a conference room and had a talk with me. Apparently Jody went to him and said that I was mean to her and she was so upset that she had to leave.”

“What exactly happened?”

Bev’s voice rose. “I don’t know! Honestly, Carrie, I don’t know what she’s talking about. She said I was mean to her, but I have no clue what’s she’s even talking about.”

“Wait a minute. You told me earlier that you snapped at her.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about! I don’t know what I could have possibly said that would have upset her. And now she’s quitting.”

“Wait a minute.  I don’t understand. What actually happened?”

“I have no idea!”

“You said you snapped at her, but about what?”

“I don’t even know what I could have done. I didn’t do anything, Carrie! It’s her word against mine. She says I was mean to her and that she’s leaving, but no one will tell me what I supposedly did wrong! I told the boss to keep Jody and I would leave since apparently I’m too difficult for anyone to work with.”

Carrie stared at her. Bev’s eyes watered as she ramped up her role as victim.  “Can you look at this job posting for me?”

“I guess. But is Jody really leaving?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened or why everyone is against me. I have no idea what she’s upset about.”

Carrie shook her head and glanced through the job posting. She debated whether to call Jody and find out the story, but was already tired of the drama and just wanted to get back to work. She nodded her head and handed the sheet of paper back to Bev. “This looks perfect for you. Go for it.”

'Jeopardy' Jeopardy

Display at the Atlanta Cyclorama, Georgia

Alyssa logged onto her computer. Tonight was the big night. Tonight she'd qualify once and for all to appear on the game show 'Jeopardy.' She'd aced the auditions at the convention center. She'd slaughtered her friends and co-workers playing Trivial Pursuit. She was a walking font of information.

Two minutes.
One.

Dollar signs and fame danced before her eyes. She imagined herself ringing in, answering question after question until even Alex Trebek had to concede that she was the 'Jeopardy' queen. Alyssa had been dreaming of this for years.

10 seconds.
9
8

Alyssa cracked her knuckles.

1...

This. Is. Jeopardy!

The categories flashed up on her computer screen:

• Astrophysics
• Minor Characters on Bonanza
• Obscure African Art
• The Biology of Iguanas
• Tuna Canning
• Civil War History

Her heart sank. She shut down her computer, then went into her living room and flipped on 'Wheel of Fortune' to see how she could qualify to be on the show.

A Quiet Conversation

I'm not sure why these stained glass windows inspired such a depressing story. They're beautiful.
St. Chapelle, Paris



For the duration of the visit, Jacob’s eyes remained downcast, locked on his mother’s frail hand as it worried the thin blanket covering her lap. They were the hands of an old woman now, with liver spots, pronounced blue veins, and arthritic twists of the knuckles. They weren’t the hands he associated with his mother. Those were strong, red, and coarse from years of scrubbing and cleaning; hands that were never idle. Punishing hands that he’d sometimes feared.

Now the skin was so thin that Jacob thought a rough paper towel might scrape them open.  They clasped and rolled at the knit hospital blanket; picking at its worn threads and then dropping them.

“I wonder if anyone will speak at my funeral,” his mother said. Her voice was as foreign to Jacob as her hands were. The strained whisper of her vocal cords made her sound like a whole different person. Not the no-nonsense mother who’d yelled his name across the neighborhood when it was time for him to come home for dinner.

He kept his head down and nodded. “I’m sure they will.”

“Will you speak, Jacob?”

Jacob’s shoulders instantly tensed and froze. He held his breath with the childhood reaction of a schoolboy. If he were completely still, maybe the teacher, or his mother in this case, would pass on him and turn her attention to another child. But alone in the room, his mother had no one else to focus on. Jacob’s mind raced back to that morning, and the moment he turned the ignition in his car and backed out of his driveway. He undid the sequence of events leading to his arrival at the hospital and stayed instead at home, perhaps doing some yard work or home repair instead. He shouldn’t have come.

He exhaled finally and nodded his head. “Sure I will,” he said softly.

He felt his mother’s stare penetrate the top of his head. Her hand was still. She waited for him to look at her. In his youth, she would have reprimanded him until he did. He heard that voice now in his head, “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

He raised his eyes and let them quickly glance off his mother’s face. Unlike the betrayal of her hands and voice, when he looked at her face he still saw the same stern woman beneath the years of age. She wasn’t going to tolerate any more nonsense. He swallowed and nodded again. “I will, Ma.”

Her eyes pinned his into place and she straightened herself ever so slightly in her hospital bed. She cleared her throat and spoke out, more forcefully than she was used to lately. “And tell me what you’ll say,” she demanded.

Jacob’s eyes widened and he leaned back defensively. He chided himself for being as submissive with her now as he had been as a child. She had a hold over him that he’d never outgrown. No matter how old she got, how incapacitated and weak, she was still very much in charge when it came to Jacob.  His mouth worked mutely. No sounds came out. He was at a loss and she was staring at him expectantly.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, Ma.”

She dropped back into her pillow and grabbed ahold of the blanket again, clenching it in her weakened fist. She looked off toward the hospital room door and watched the blur of nurses and doctors passing by. Her voice was shaky and thin.

“Well, you’d better figure it out.”

Pushed a Little Too Far

            The doctor pulled the curtain closed with a loud clinking of metal hoops and heavy fabric. I watched my sleeping husband disappear from view as the doctor cupped my elbow and directed me a few feet away.

            “Your husband is resting,” he said. “But I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

            I stole another quick glance toward my husband, but he was blocked from view.    “Mrs. Crawford, we set your husband’s arm. It was a clean break. But, can you tell me again how he broke it?”

            My mouth went dry. My forehead broke into a sweat.

            “He fell off the bed,” I said, as tears welled in my eyes.

            “He says he was sleeping,” the doctor said sharply.

            The events of the last few hours flashed through my mind. My husband was snoring, as usual, making it impossible to sleep. I listened to his chainsaw snores for as long as I could then I reached over and oh so lovingly, nudged him. The next thing I knew, he was lying on the floor, screaming in pain, saying that I was trying to kill him. But I couldn’t tell the doctor that.

            “Well, he was sleeping, and snoring, and I tried to roll him on his side. Gently! I tried to gently roll him on his side! But he rolled too far and fell off the bed.”

            The doctor stared at me.

            “It was an accident!”

            The doctor crossed his arms across his chest.

            “Can you explain the bruises we found along your husband’s arm? It looks like he’s been repeatedly pinched.”

            I gulped.

            “Well…”

            “And the finger-like bruises around his neck?”

            “He was choking!” I cried.

            The doctor stared at me as though I were a criminal. I hadn’t meant my husband any harm. I was just trying to get some sleep! He snored so loudly that it shook the house. I’d tried everything, but nothing worked. He rumbled on and on, making a thunderous noise that I just couldn’t take any more. But I’d never meant to hurt him!

            “Mrs. Crawford, we found traces of cotton in your husband’s nostrils. It appears that someone placed a pillow over his face.”

            “No, you see, I just pulled the pillow out from under his head, but the force of….”

            My sentence was cut off by the high-decibel volume of a freight train screaming through the room. The bedside curtain blew in the breeze caused by the thunderous blare of my husband’s olfactory trumpet. I couldn’t even hear myself over the noise.

            The doctor leaned in with his hand cupped over his ear.

            “We’re going to keep him here overnight for observation,” the doctor said.

            I nodded my head and tried to look glum, but I was secretly gleeful. I couldn’t wait to get home and get back to bed. With my husband out of the house I was about to get the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time.