Story. Страница 18

That's How She Says Goodbye. Lucas Rockwood

The first time she lets a boy touch her is in December, just before her 18th birthday. The day the rain starts. It usually doesn't begin until January or February, but this year the rain comes early. Buckets and buckets of water dump down against the cement, against the strip malls, against the freshly painted stucco homes. In Southern California, the further you get from the ocean, the less interesting it becomes. The beach boardwalks and bronze-colored beauties from the TV shows are replaced with high-desert…

Five Whole Fingers. T. K. Lee

I I can count on one hand the things I know about Tavvy.     I'll start with the pinkie. Tavvy is not her real name, but it's all U.L., or anybody else for that matter, have ever called her. We were the next house over, coming from town that is, and being such close neighbors, it was nothing new for us to get her J.C. Penny or Reader's Digest by mistake in the mail. That's the only way I ever knew her first and last names were Ouida and Rolan. Of course, I'd usually just call her Ms. Tavvy, you know, to her…

Chinese on the Beach. Vanessa Fabiano

The next morning the sky was clear.     We had been waiting for a clear sky since leaving Beijing two days ago. On a whim we had come out to this seaside town, after talking vaguely about "getting out" - out of Beijing's colossal, traffic-jammed arteries, that is, where a grey slosh plugged the sky shut. Someone needs to drain this place, Noel said, and that was when we first thought of Minglao and the possibility of catching a glimpse of blue sky out here by the shore. It seemed sensible enough, and we booked…

The Door by E. B. White

Everything (he kept saying) is something it isn't. And everybody is always somewhere else. Maybe it was the city, being in the city, that made him feel how queer everything was and that it was something else. Maybe (he kept thinking) it was the names of the things. The names were tex and frequently koid. Or they were flex and oid or they were duroid (sand) or flexsan (duro), but everything was glass (but not quite glass) and the thing that you touched (the surface, washable, crease-resistant) was rubber, only…

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Hangover. Ian Phillips

As hangovers go, this felt pretty bad.     It wasn't a feeling of pain, more an emotional, deep scarring.     Nausea, headaches, the shaking hands. All these could be dealt with by the usual plop-plop-fizz and a quick trip to the local at lunch time. What I was more concerned with was the wiping of my memory from the night before.

The Penance. Saki

Octavian Ruttle was one of those lively cheerful individuals on whom amiability had set its unmistakable stamp, and, like most of his kind, his soul's peace depended in large measure on the unstinted approval of his fellows. In hunting to death a small tabby cat he had done a thing of which he scarcely approved himself, and he was glad when the gardener had hidden the body in its hastily dug grave under a lone oak-tree in the meadow, the same tree that the hunted quarry had climbed as a last effort towards…

Remains. George Nevgodovskyy

Deacon Park is where they bury the bodies. For a cold-blooded killer, a huge tract of wild land in the middle of the city can be an indispensable resource.     Some of those bodies, if discovered, become resurrected as news stories. He'd heard the same reporters on T.V. recycle the same lines his entire life. Still, most of them remain buried forever, and after a while, you become acclimated to a certain lack of closure.     You live in this town long enough; eventually, you learn never to get too close.

Time, Again. Tim Maly

Before we met, you showed me your diary.     I must confess that I am still confused by this sequence of events, as, I imagine, you must be confused by my decision to leave your life so suddenly. I've gone over everything in my head time and time again and I can't shake the feeling that, somehow, everything got mixed up. Though this may seem a flimsy reason to you, it is reason enough for me. I don't understand, so I'm going to leave.

The Stranger. Norm Scanlon

"Be not forgetful to entertain strangers; for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."   Hebrews 13:2   The Evening