window girl_Arballo Dr. B&E_I-10 to Tucson_Saints and Monsters
Catalog Guide:
window girl
I see her, a girl about my age staring out the window of the crowded, loud and pee stenched new york subway cart. Shes sitting…as still as water and her eyes looked like they were at the end of a staring contest with her own reflection just— about—to crack. She had a mask on but for some reason I felt her pain and began to shed a tear. Because I know that stare. The onwww.onedoor.cce that never ends even when you start off looking at the people on the platform to now into the pitch black tunnel and all you see is yourself. Which shocks you a little for some reason even though you were expecting it. It’s l...
Arballo Dr. B&E
We broke into her house through the kitchen window after James said, “I can see it now. There’s no one in there.” Inside, I learned that sounds are louder when you’re trespassing. I heard my blood moving; it raced all around my body and up into my head until my temples pounded to the beat of my rapid pulse; a hundred fists banging on taut drums. Thump. Thump. Thump. My mind, a place I’ve never understood, was always getting into accidents. James lit up the mustard yellow kitchen with a light fob as my thoughts crashed into each other. My body, a vehicle transporting a lost soul, followed him ...
I-10 to Tucson
Up along the side of the road there was a figure, standing, waiting patiently as if in a lineup for a movie ticket. Carol Massey had already made up her mind to pull over in order to pick up this person who was waiting oh-so patiently for two reasons: one, had some tired long-haul driver not picked her up on the side of the road so many years ago, where would she be? Not in Phoenix, that’s for sure. Not happy. She’d still be in Tucson, haunted by her gruff father and the ghost of the child she had failed. The second reason is that she kept a gun under the seat. Carol Massey wasn’t a stupid wo...
Saints and Monsters
1820The Pastor sits in his empty church long after all the congregation has left. It is night, and the air is cold and still as death. He wears a faded suit and hat. His hair is gray and thinning at his crown, a thick beard concealing his jaw, his face weathered and eyes red from crying. He rises from the pews and walks to the table beneath the podium. It is lined with candles. He lights them one by one, until their collective light casts dancing shadows over the bronze crucifix on the wall above him. He gazes with forlorn eyes at the face of Christ--the empty eyes pleading with an unresponsiv...