You can’t see me, but I’m rubbing my hands together with sinister glee. Maybe I’m just excited to share this month’s issue of Defenestration with you. Or maybe I’m giddy about leaving this disastrous year behind. Or maybe I’m convinced that time is cyclical and that David Bowie will reappear sometime in early January. Okay, so maybe it’s all three. But this is Defenestration, so let’s talk about that, shall we?
Lehman stepped off the elevator on the 5th floor of the building identified only as 100 Canard Place. Directly across the hall, a hand lettered note was tacked to the wall beside a frosted glass door. It read, “Candidates for the position go inside.”
‘Inside’ was a long, vacant reception room. A single chair was positioned to the right of the door. Above the chair was another hand lettered note that read, “Please be seated.” Lehman glanced at his wrist watch as he sat down. It read 10:40 am. His interview was at eleven o’clock. Perhaps they would call him early, he thought. He kept glancing at his watch until the hands slowly crawled around to 10:58 am. He should be called soon he thought. The straight-backed metal chair was digging into his thighs and the trickle of tepid air that was flowing from the dusty vents only served to add to his discomfort. Suddenly, he was aware of a presence standing directly in front of him.
“Mr. Lemon Farts.”
Hi Irene:
I hope you are well. I know that you left a message wanting to know when we arranged tour guides. I’m answering you late because one guide has not yet gotten back to us. So, here’s the best information I can give you, at this point.
Quimby and I would like to pay for two days of touring. One has already been scheduled and paid for. It’s for our boys to go to Vallis Bohr and the Bohr Crater. The tour guide will pick them up at your cube and drop them back off very late in the day. He will make sure they hydrate at appropriate times and will otherwise take good care of them.
Eva Wright announced her wedding engagement with little forethought one cold April morning, during an uneven thaw at the end of an unseasonably long winter. She’d been wandering for hours along slushy Chicago streets, admiring the frost glittering on the petals of tulips, when she decided to visit her father, if only to fill the empty hours of a quiet Saturday morning.
“It’s been awhile,” Thomas Wright said. He averted his eyes from his daughter’s frayed sweater, an affront to fashion that recalled the color of withered limes.
In a huge cavern in Transylvania, a hundred thousand bats gathered for an emergency meeting, clinging in tribal clusters from stalactites. At the center of the cave, various national representatives nudged and wedged themselves into better spots, until a huge ancient bat with scarred wings, raised his head and emitted a sonorous whistle. All fell quiet.