This list makes me sad. Not because what I did manage to read was bad, but because I’ve had so little time to actually read. Anyway …
“Rocket Dragons” by Larry Kincheloe
“The Sandman’s Dreams” by Jess Hyslop
“Past Tense” by James Beamon
“Snake Sister” by Melissa Mead
“Daughter of Mettle” by Aaron DaMommio
“Legerdemain” by Gabriel Murray
Twenty-Four Hours of Fast Fiction by Lee ‘Budgie’ Barnett
“What Merfolk Must Know” by Kat Otis
“Shades of the Father” by M. Adrian Sellers
“Puppet Man” by Cate Gardner
“Forgiving Dead” by Jeff Stehman
“Puss” by Melissa Mead
“Swan Song” by Melissa Mead
“A Little Sleep” by Melissa Mead
“The Left Side of Your Lover’s Broken Face” by Brynn MacNab
“Lyam” by Jez Patterson
“The Bargain” by Henry Szabranski
“Jumbo Gumdrop Serenade” by E. Catherine Tobler
“The Troll (A Tale Told Collectively)” by Marissa Lingen
“Persephone at Arm’s Length” by Bridget A. Natale
As some of you may know, we’ve been slowly — very slowly — moving into our new place for the past six months. It’s taken a lot of trips, and a lot of money, and there’s still the fence to put up and the porch to close in and the animals to move. This afternoon, we packed a few boxes and headed that way only to find the back door swinging in the breeze and the siding underneath knocked out.
They made off with most of the copper wiring and an auger that’d been sitting on the porch. The back door is so damaged it won’t even close, it’s being held shut with a bag of cement.
The cops were called and a report was made. We doubt we’ll hear back from them anytime soon.
They think it was someone we knew, someone familiar with the house. We think we know who’s responsible, but how does that help us now?
Next step is to see how much our insurance will cover, if they’ll cover anything at all.
We have four weeks. What else can go wrong?
© Wicked Sushi
Old Wife’s Tail
by Mekenzie Larsen
Whiskers tickled his chin. A weight on his chest, no lighter than a bowling ball, shifted languidly from one rib to the other. His wrists bled. His ankles were bruised. His foggy eyes rolled in their sockets till they landed on hers, sharp blue and full of poison.
He whimpered, waiting for the next strike. It didn’t take long. A practiced set of crimson-stained claws flashed across his cheek, his nose, his lips. “Why?” He could hear the others, light feet pacing the room, flooding the stairwell. Some had wandered into the basement in search of smaller prey. “Why do you do this?” He wept, salt burning a trail from his eyes to the hair at his temples. She drew closer, smiling.
“It’s not your breath we want,” she hissed. “It’s your tears.”
The flowers are blooming and the bees are back. With obligatory selfie and cat portrait.
Posted in Dogtown, Photos
Apex Magazine #46
Apex Magazine #45
Are You Listening? (The Fathomless Abyss) by J.M. McDermott
“And He Built a Crooked House” by Robert A. Heinlin
“The Man and the River” by Therese Pieczynski
“Subject AT-171″ by Melissa Mead
“Linger” by Ken Liu
“Doctor was Madman, Family Man” by Paul Blonsky
“Sweet Justice” by Melissa Mead
“Mirror, Mirror” by Davyne DeSye
“Heaven” by Janet Shell Anderson
“Soft” by Cat Rambo
I’ve also been reading Anti-Requiem: New Orleans Stories by Louis Maistros (fantastic) and the increasingly irritating (because it never ends!) Moby Dick.
Last night, our rocker bench got drunk. It’s the only explanation for why it dragged its sorry chipped ass across our back porch before throwing itself into the arms of a lounge chair. Sure, it was raining, but the hard stuff had blown over and the wind had calmed to a whisper. We heard it first, a knock on the back door then a crash and the sound of concrete screaming. Our first thought: The dogs tipped something over, or they were nosing around and nudging a chair along the wall. When we made it to the window, the bench was gone and the dogs were standing in the rain with wide eyes and ears raised.
Now, Cujo and Baby are big dogs — they carry almost 300 pounds between them — but there’s no way they did that. One, I’ve never known them to flip the furniture over, even though they could. Two, they couldn’t have flipped it other, pushed it against the wall, scrape it past the door, then flip it forward, up and over another chair without pulling a shit-ton of junk (cardboard boxes, a small trash can, their water bowl) along with it. Neither could the wind, for that matter. If the wind had been strong enough to pick it up and toss it, that would be one thing. But then we’d be talking about wind capable of lifting something that weighs more than I do yet leaves papers and cigarette butts and spindly tree branches behind.
The dogs were scared. We were paranoid. Stuff like this always happens when we start packing. Three houses and countless cases of furniture moving, pipes bursting, and photos vanishing from their frames. My mother blames it on gremlins she’s only read about. I blame it on ghosts I can see.
That, or the bench was drunk. I just hope the tread marks were worth it.
It’s been a rough few weeks, so reading has had to take a backseat to sick kitties and work. Here’s what I managed to squeeze in.
Guns by Stephen King
“Hungry” by Robert E. Stutts
“Wildness and Wet” by Lee Hallison
“The Time Travel Device” by James Van Pelt
“They’re Made Out of Meat” by Terry Bisson
“A Hairy Predicament” by Melissa Mead
The Universe Doesn’t Give a Flying Fuck About You by Johnny B. Truant
“The Mountain” by Andrew Kozma
“Coffee Pot” by Jez Patterson
“I Heard You Got a Cat, I Heard You Named Him Charles” by M. Bennardo
“Hazel Tree” by Melissa Mead
“The Princess of the Perfume River” by Aliette de Bodard
“White as Snow, Red as Blood” by Melissa Mead
I got my first camera, a Canon Digital Rebel XT, for Christmas 2007. These were some of the first pictures I took.