CHANGING TIMES_The Best in the World_Death of a Gunman_Within the Hour of the Wolf
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CHANGING TIMES
YEAR 1965:“Stop running. Jesus. These damn kids! One day they are going to get seriously hurt.” Muttered Mrs. Patrakis from the fourth floor as she slowly climbed up the stairs with the support of railings. “God knows when they’ll fix up the elevator. It’s been months. People these days have no concerns for their senior citizens.” Mrs. Patrakis, widowed at the age of fifty, recently turned seventy. Her body ached every time she got up from her chair. Yet, she made it a point to step out to buy her own groceries, get her letters and cook her own meals. Years of living alone made her bitter. The...
The Best in the World
I was crying, under a table, while the ground shook. I was still young, and had no sense of real danger. I felt betrayed by the world I had always innocewww.onedoor.ccntly loved. Books flew off the shelves, I covered my head, and I wept. I asked god to send my parents home from work, just so I could be with them. I didn’t ask him to end the earthquake. It was too much, even for him. My face was hot and puffy, covered in tears and snot. Terrified, I fell asleep. I was a little girl, under a little table, in a little house. The city was too big, the shaking was too fierce, and the world was too vast for me. ...
Death of a Gunman
All it took was one mistake.Chauncey’s dark eyes shifted to the door again. They were out there and waiting, but he was never one to make the first move. Too long he had enjoyed a wild, dangerous life, but now and only now he realized it couldn’t continue. There was always someone faster, smarter, or low enough to murder him with his back turned.Patiently he carved another notch into the handle of his six-gun. For the first time it didn’t give him pride to do this. For the first time he didn’t feel excitement at the prospect of the fight waiting for him outside.Reholstering the gun he stood an...
Within the Hour of the Wolf
You are no doubt wondering why such a tragic and dark-laden title, “Within the Hour of the Wolf,” was chosen for this piece. Is the writer some crazed lunatic who runs rampant into the night howling at the moon in symphony—nay in oneness—with the nocturnal beasts? “Well…no.” Yet at the same time a resounding [cue an operatic singer punctuating the last word on a high note] “YYYEEESSS!!!” Yes in that you may have observed a certain nameless inpidual, in the past, running, or at least stumbling, in the dark (beer in hand) howling at the moon. Whether or not there was actually a moon at the time...