Monthly Archives: February 2014

2014/02/12

Interpretive Revelations

By dsholloway

A sheet of paper, littered with menacing and indecipherable scrawl, plastered itself to the windshield of her luxury automobile. She should have turned around and gone back home. But she pressed on because she loves adventure and whispered threats of danger.  Another sheet of paper, littered with the same scrawl, viciously wrapped itself around the hood ornament of her luxury automobile. She cursed because she curses often. It’s sexy. But that’s irrelevant to this story, probably.

The paper blew thicker and with greater force, like the churning ash left by nuclear explosion though less awful. Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. Because she already knew what happened: her 70-story office building was gone, and in its place a love letter standing 850 feet high had been left by someone obviously insane.

The first time this happened she sought to make amends with the author and convinced him to put the building back. Be reasonable, K, she had implored. That was a long time ago.

She approached the letter and lit it on fire with a fancy lighter she received from somebody not insane. She watched it burn for a moment, a flicker of satisfaction in her eye.

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2014/02/09

Mourning Secular Futures

By dsholloway

She knocked on the door again–for the last time, she told herself. There had never been no answer.

She knocked again and buried her face into the lapel of her grey Calvin Klein. It was cold.

She thought back to the first time she knocked on his door, when she invited herself over to drink his vodka and snoop through his stuff and block his driveway with her luxury automobile. You left something behind, he reported the next day, referring to the scent she had worn. Stop by tonight to pick it up.

Never one to shy from playful confrontation, the woman began leaving things at his house, which guaranteed a return trip so she could forget something else: You left something behind… Stop by to pick it up. It was cute.

But the ritual took a toll on the man, who seemed to age between visits. His body grew gaunt, sick. She asked of his health always; he waved away her concern, smiling.

Last night she left a silk scarf. Tonight she was going to leave a key to something special. She placed it in front of the door and marched back to her  automobile-which was blocking the driveway.

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2014/02/04

Nonrepressive Hedonism

By dsholloway

There was something sinister waiting for K. He sensed it when he pulled up to the woman’s house. He sensed it when she greeted him at the door. She gave K a warm hug, and though he was outwardly receptive to it the way heterosexual men are always receptive to any sort of physical contact with attractive women, his insides recoiled from her touch.

He didn’t understand. While there had always been something incongruous about the woman, K had attributed it to the fact that she owned a hideous scarf that forestalled otherwise sartorial perfection. Worse, she insisted on wearing it.

The woman led K to the kitchen where she was readying a stilted romantic dinner. Wine? she offered, uncorking a bottle of Q.

She handed him a glass. K jostled its stem and watched the red liquid agitate. He used to drink Q regularly because it matched some girl’s lipstick. After she killed herself, he stopped drinking it for that reason. The woman offered a toast, her smile smeared with the perfect shade of red.

K put his wine on the counter and dove inside. The undertow pulled at him, as the woman brought his glass to her lips.

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