Banana asphyxiation, the Cat-Dog the exterminator can't contain, and a lonely place called Defeated.
“Objects in the Gas” by Lara S. Williams @ Neon Magazine
It was a Monday when my mother asphyxiated herself in our 1988 Camero,
locked behind the electric garage doors that never worked when it
frosted. She had three things with her: a banana skin, her wedding veil
and my dad's wristwatch. She had pulled the pin at exactly three thirty
to offer us the comfort of a time of death. I thought it a sad thing to
do.
“Wound Glue” by Michael Cooper @ SmokeLong Weekly
Cat-Dog comes and settles with its cronies under
your house. At least thirty fucking oat field cats. The exterminator who
stole your wife came a month ago. On his knees, he brightened the
crawlspace under the porch with his high-powered flashlight. A hundred
shiny eyes hovered down there, and they still do, like Argos hiding,
timid since the heifer's been stolen.
“Defeated, Tennessee” by J.M. Blaine @ The Nervous Breakdown
I've been carrying around my best friend from high school's phone number for a few months now but haven't called yet. Been waiting, waiting for the stars to align.
