The Parachute Kids


Bright sunlight penetrated my eyes. The bed felt familiar underneath me. The room looked familiar. It took me a long moment to realize that I was back home. I had no memory of where I was before or how I had even arrived here, but I felt safe. Something inside whispered that was all I needed to know. For now.

The house was quiet. As usual, the stairs creaked as I walked down them. More sunlight. A smell of breakfast rumbled my stomach, but they had already eaten. They did not wait for me. Did they not want to wake me?


The Hole


Angie could recall every detail of the burial of her father. It was the kind of perfect, balmy day that occasionally happens in late fall in New England. The sky sharp and blue, the air warm, even the gentle winds were summer like. The grass still thick and green, swaying with the wind. Only the bare trees gave away the season. It was a beautiful day. Except they were burying her father. Her father, whom she adored, and had been alive and well when she left for school Monday and dead when she got home. A heart attack they told her, out of the blue. There was crying and grown-ups hugging her, telling her to be brave. Telling her how much her father loved her.



Circuit Board

“Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
“Stop scratching.”
“I’m sorry. It itches.”
“I know it itches, but I’m prepping your head. You’re lucky I went to med school.”
“Virtual med school.”
“Sit still. Okay. This might still sting.”
“Did they catch the other guy?”
“You know they did. They’ll catch you too. Facial Recognition.”


The Language Barrier


On his way back from the office, Donald Davenport called his wife Martha at home from the phone booth that stood outside The Small Theatre off Franklyn Street. Next Tuesday, there would be a performance of The Clock in the Sky, a new play that had recently been written up in a reliable newspaper. After speaking to Martha, Donald hung up and entered though the old revolving doors of the theatre. The familiar rustic interior, the smoke stained walls displaying posters of up-and-coming shows, the gleaming marble floor, and the usual staff whom Donald knew well were inside. Shaking off the dampness from the late evening drizzle, Donald made his way over to the ticket office. Jane the ticket attendant smiled from over her typewriter as Donald approached.


Death Made a Pie


I found old man Hendricks’s house fascinating. The sunken in roof. The broken rickety fence. The brown mass of grass. There were never any lights on except for the upstairs, and I don’t remember the last time I saw old man Hendricks. I wondered if he was even alive, but then a shadow moved against the window. Four kids hurried over to his property. They reached into their plastic pumpkins, dishing out apples, and without hesitation, they launched them at the windows. Most smashed against the outside. One was a home run, and glass shattered. The kids bolted, turned the corner, but my attention remained on the house. Its owner never emerged.


Kayapo, Bad Poetry, & Super-Storm by Mitchell Grabois


The chief of the Kayapo tribe receives the worst news of his life. A hydroelectric plant will destroy his village. In the civic meeting, he is shirtless. He wears a sacred, red weaving over his heart and a bright yellow fan on his head. He puts his fingers to his brow, a salute to sorrow, lowers his head and cries.

It is too crass to segue to this:

The Republican candidate spent $77,000.00 on the care and feeding of his dancing horse. The candidate gets a nice tax break for that.


24 Won’t Come Back No More (Parody)


(Hit the road Jack. 24 won’t come back no more, no more, no more, no more.)
(Hit the road Jack. 24 won’t come back no more.)
What you say?
(Hit the road Jack. 24 won’t come back no more, no more, no more, no more.)
(Hit the road Jack. 24 won’t come back no more.)

Woah Woman, oh Chloe, looks really so mean,
Dark hair and make-up is not what you once seemed.


Modern Modernity Pt. 2


Suzanne carried Ariel in one arm, the baby resting on her hip. Her eyes were bright and her mouth puckered like she’d just sucked a lemon slice. “It’s been a goddamn hour and a half, Jill,” she said.

Since kissing Grover goodbye and watching his tan Escort rumble down the highway, I’d fought like hell to squelch the sadness surging inside me. I didn’t have the energy to fight with my sister. I simply told the truth: “Grover introduced me to his new boyfriend.” I looked down at my shoes, realized I hadn’t bought new ones in two years.


Taking on the Universe


All I did was go to sleep one night. The day had ended. Work was done, and I was spent. My life was far from perfect, but it could have been worse. I knew I was wasting away with mindless routine, going to work, going home, and with doing nothing in-between. I wanted more. I imagined a life out there that would fill me up, erase all the pain and hardship that I endured, and one day, I would live the dream. I never imagined living my nightmare. All I did was close my eyes and say good-night to the universe.