Posts Tagged ‘ Prose VII.III ’

“Doing Time in Monopoly Jail,” by Keith Wisniewski

Dec 20th, 2010 | By

TOP HAT: Hello cellmates! Top Hat, esquire, at your service. It looks as though you will have the pleasure of my company for a little while. You see, I had the utter misfortune of landing on Go to Jail, and well, here I am! But, no worries, I’m sure we will have a grand ol’ time together! So, tell me, what brings the rest of you to this dreadfully decorated place of incarceration?

“Shopping List,” by Faith Gardner

Dec 20th, 2010 | By

Shopping grounds me. I interpret my sense of personal success, as usual, on my alacrity and ability to bargain. Striking my Safeway card through the machine like a knife. The checker, a handsome teenager with a faint, pitiful mustache, fails to meet my gaze. Am I really so old? I ask him how his day went. The question misses him, no entry, no exit, no effect. Just fine. He hands me my two plastic bags. Ghosts to carry home.

“Preface to a Backyard Adventure,” by Eric Hawthorn

Dec 20th, 2010 | By

Our backyard sloped down like the tongue of a thirsty dog. Its steepness made for excruciating leaf raking, impossible lawn mowing, and unbelievable sledding. Of course, my fondest backyard memories are from sledding season. My two brothers and I would fight over the runner sled, which our family had owned for so long that it creaked like a rocking chair and made its own decisions, steering-wise. With enough grease on its runners and a good push, this sled really got going. The company that made it—during Colonial times, we figured—had named it “The AstroGlider.” The paint had mostly worn off, but we could still faintly read the sled’s motto, printed on one side: The Smoothest Ride Around. Our parents thought this was funny.

“Your Relationship with Edward Gray,” by Daniel Clausen

Dec 20th, 2010 | By

He manages his finely tuned anti-élan with bureaucratic flair, killing the life out of the walls and people in our tiny office on Porter Street. He stalks the hallways with his organizationally upright diction, walk, and mannerisms. His indefatigable confidence is both boring and compulsive. Skinny, like an assemblage of toothpicks holding up a suit, the visibility of his bone structure shows a love of desk, paperwork, and company–a willingness to persevere to starvation in order to fulfill the demands of a deified “efficiency” and to bring misery to those who don’t.

“A Proper Sexual Education,” by Tom McMillian

Dec 20th, 2010 | By

Dad started acting crazy after our mother died. Little things, mostly. Awoke four times a night to check the stove. Enrolled my brother in women’s self-defence classes. Painted our basement yellow, then grey, then wallpapered it cantaloupe orange.

Twice a week he’d call the school to check that there was fruit in our lunches.

It all seemed harmless.