Killers Don't Carry Cards_Five Years Later_The Lick of the Flame_Dead Reck’nin’
Catalog Guide:
Killers Don't Carry Cards
Daddy came home late on a summer night, stinking of wine and dead porch bugs.They didn’t have a porch.His collar was stained with lipstick Momma didn’t wear, and the tag stuck out of pants that weren’t wrinkled before he left. He took one glance at his family-- his daughter, sitting peaceful and innocent on the floor with her unicorns and her books and her fairy tales miles from their tiny house, and his wife-- Momma, that is her name-- glaring with arms crossed and thin lips he don’t like kissing no more pursed. He read it all on her face. He said, “God, woman, I just went to the bar for a dr...
Five Years Later
“We didn’t start the fire…” the Billy Joel song faded out as I regained my focus on twww.onedoor.cche door. I knew Simon would be here soon and I was going to hold my ground. We didn’t need to argue anymore. It had been five years, he still blamed me, and he was not getting Sammie.I was over this, and I wanted it to be finished. He told me he didn’t love me after one year of marriage. Actually, he said he didn’t love me as much as he thought he did. Either way, it wrecked every part of me. He said it was because I changed. It was true. I did. Once we got married, I stopped showing up at his job for midnight...
The Lick of the Flame
My father called the tip of a candle light the lick of the flame. I never understood why, but neither did I understand why he would stare at a burnt candle for entire minutes. Watching it with such interest… as if the very sight of a small fire was more important than his own children.I had just turned old enough to drive when my mother has diagnosed with stage four cancer. She passed soon after, leaving my little sister and me with my depressed father. Since then I've had to drive my little sister and me so we don't miss school... or so we can go grocery shopping... so we can live.We had to t...
Dead Reck’nin’
Adult themes/languageFor best effect read in a slow southern drawl.————————————-DEAD RECK’NIN’I slowly wake outta a bad dream that I can’t remember. It’s dark as all hell. I can taste iron in my mouth. I like it. Reminds me o’ the best steak I ever done ate. A lean blue T-bone. Barely dead. Blood seepin’ onto the plate. Home-made fries like momma used to make, and the best damn sauce this side o’ the equator. I lick my lips. My tongue’s too dry to get ‘em wet. I fumble ‘round in the hopes of findin’ a light switch, hell even a drape. Who knows what the hell time o’ night this is? My hand touch...