Posts Tagged ‘ XIV.I ’

Defenestration: April 2017

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

Good morning or possibly afternoon (or night)! Welcome to the April 2017 issue of Defenestration! And if I’m here welcoming you to a new issue, that also means I’m sitting at my computer the night before this issue goes live, wondering what the heck I should be writing about for my editorial. I mean, I could tell you about all the stuff you get to read this month, which may or may not include clown removal, jabberwockies, interesting clothes, dead bodies, ballet, and a bear named Doug.



“Clown R&R,” by Kevin Sterne

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I’m in the middle of my tuna melt when Wendy tells me she’s got a woman on the line with a clown stuck in her window well. Great.

“Can I call her after my break?” I say with a mouth full of moist tuna.

To which Wendy says, “I’m really sorry but she sounds like hysterics.”

Wendy’s big for her age, her age being about 55—or 20 years my senior—and big being residual body mass from her college rugby days.

I put the rest of my lunch in foil.



“Here Lies Ennis MacDonald,” by Kay Bevan

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

Evelyn wasn’t entirely sure what to do, when her husband choked and died at the breakfast table one Saturday morning. Lifting him was out of the question; she was fit for a seventy-two year old, but Ennis was decidedly less so. No, she wouldn’t be able to budge him without straining something. Going into town for help was out, too. She was definitely not ready for any of the folk in town to come sneaking and spying around her house under the guise of caring.



“Out of Town,” by Jennie Byrne

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I’m out of town. That’s all I had to say. Sorry mum, it’s work, I’ll visit as soon as I’m home. Then book a one way ticket to Australia and change my name to Silvia.

She’d never know about the three pictures a day I post on Facebook which are clearly from my living room. She’d never know that I’m sitting in all day binge watching Orange Is The New Black, with my hair scrunched up into a bobble, a cup of tea in one hand and the other arm deep in a bag of Doritos, (the chili heatwave kind of course, because the cheesy ones leave your mouth tasting like a badgers armpit for hours), chili dust clinging to the hairs on my forearm. She’d never know I lied.



“Now that you’ve seen me in my gimp suit, there are some things I want to talk to you about,” by L. Soviero

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I know how awkward that must’ve been for you, coming home and finding me how you did. It was for me too.



“From Doug the Bear with Love,” by Chris Connell

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

I’m writing this from what seems to be a box. Eh, it’s a computer. I’m sitting at a computer and now I have to come up with a short story that will win the hearts of its readers.

Yeah, so it was 1973. Yeah, 1973, everyone loves the 70s. This will work. No, it was 2017. Yeah, 2017. Cool. We got the year out of the way.

On a dark summer night in 2017, it was dark like most nights are, and I was fishing. Yeah, fishing. OK, I got it, yeah, I was fishing and there was a bear. A bear. I caught a fucking bear.



“We Cannot Become What we Need to be by Remaining What we Are,” by C.B. Auder

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

“I need a transplant,” Dad said, and before I could even back up my spreadsheet, the old man had tripped over the coffee table and windmilled into my lap.

I’d always thought of my father as a person only in the abstract, of course. But once that cruller-loving flesh bag was slumped across my chair, pinching my carpal-tunnel arm? Well.



“Hamlet’s Solilwocky,” by Tucker Lieberman

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Felt dread of something after death—
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Long life—To die, to sleep—No more—
And by a sleep to say we end



“Never Give Up, Poem,” by JD DeHart

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

someone will take you, poem
don’t give up
keep fighting the good fight
chin up



“We, humans,” by Nathaniel Sverlow

Apr 20th, 2017 | By

sex with coworkers
is not recommended