Red Sweater_Lunch with Aunt Bea_The Desert Labyrinth_Of Love and Lapis Lazuli
Catalog Guide:
Red Sweater
The cardboard box had been sitting at the bottom of the closet for nearly two years by the time I opened it again. A heavy layer of dust masked the words written on top, but I clearly remembered what they said: Dear Kate. I know you loved it, so here it is; for gorgeous Gabriel. Love from Jen, Ray and Maxie.———Jennifer and I had been best friends since we were toddlers. We grew up in the same neighbourhood, went to the same schools and had joint birthday parties every year as children. It seems silly looking back on it now, but we used to promise each other that we’d get married at the same ti...
Lunch with Aunt Bea
“Back in my day I was out four or five nights a week,” Bea wheezed through her portable oxygen tank. We sat on the terrace. Bea, Steven, and me. I positioned her in the shade as it was getting warm in the October desert sun.“Don’t ever get old, boys,” she reflected. “Old age isn’t for sissies.”How many times had we heard that line before? She uses it three or four times in every conversation, and we speak with her 4 or 5 days a week. “I hardly go to the club (her country club) anymore. It’s too difficult, you know. I cannot see. Someone has to feed me,” she lamented. “I mean, I don’t mind goi...
The Desert Labyrinth
Note: This story also includes emotional abuseMarenith swirled the sword in a circle around her head. She had lived here her whole life. She had never known anything different than the walls of stone and hedges. She knew every pattern they made. She had traced them over and over and over with her eyes, with her fingers. She had made her own patterns in the dirt with her toes. Boredom often set in. Aside from the Witch, it was Marenith and the Minotaur. She didn't know if the Witch was truly a witch, but the woman who had given birth to her never came to visit or sent word. The Witch was all Ma...
Of Love and Lapis Lazuli
It’s Friday night, or so it seems, and I’m shuffling down a damp street bright with neon lights oozing garishly off wide, dewy windows and slippy pavements steaming withwww.onedoor.cc excitement and frivolity. I am enjoying the buzz and hum of the Glow-People as they slither and slide around me and the way they duck into bars and melt into the blather-beats of music, laughter and the chemical scent of muscle and yearning, porous skin…some walk arm in arm looking assured and comfortable as if they know where the fuck they are and where the fuck they are going. I don’t. I don’t know, even, the name of this...