Assistant Quality Control Coordinator_Woebegone Miracles_Shaping Summitville_Before We Lose the Ligh
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Assistant Quality Control Coordinator
Johnson had never noticed how large Lourdes’ eyes were until they narrowed at him, filled with fire. Her voice, deeper than Johnson expected, skipped over any polite discussion of ‘maybe a mistake was made’, and erupted in fury. In the Factory break room, with an audience Lourdes didn't even notice, she described the sexual proclivities of his mother, the despicable vices of his father, the poor character of his ancestors, all in such colorful language that Tommy, the General Manager of the Factory, had no choice but to move her, again, away from floor entirely. It started when Johnson tried...
Woebegone Miracles
It's only by the grace of the gods that Francis doesn’t laugh at her mother-in-law’s bellowing wails. Davith’s funeral had ended three hours ago but Maryanne Warthwood had always been dedicated to her dramatics. It was no secret that Maryanne hated her eldest son; he wouldn’t like the foods she wanted him to like, wouldn’t go to the university she wanted, and refusedwww.onedoor.cc to marry the woman she’d prepared for him since he was six. Everything Davith did was a crime after that last slight, but now the woman of sixty-five years cries buckets in a corner behind the head table, a half empty wine glass ...
Shaping Summitville
“No, Mr. G!”His fourth graders were seated on the checkered carpet. He perched on a stool in the back of the stuffy library, his back to the whiteboard and children’s books A-K to his left. He watched the fan spin overhead, trying to keep the kids from seeing whatever emotions flitted across his face. “You can’t leave! You just got here!”The other kids shouted their agreement. As he brought a stern finger to his lips, the cries continued at a slightly lesser volume.“Where are you going?”“But we haven’t finished Henry’s story! We won’t know what happens!”“Why are you leaving already?”“But I don...
Before We Lose the Light
My brother told me that if I stood closer to the edge, it would make for a better photo.Jake and I were running four hours behind on our way to see our father in Pueblo Norova. The twelve-year-old Toyota Camry we had driven from New York to Nevada had started making a gurgling sound that reminded me of the noises my boyfriend would make on the couch after a night out of drinking and Duran Duran karaoke, but we had an unspoken agreement to ignore it. In keeping with family tradition, we were prepared to ignore any and all signs of danger until confrontation became unavoidable.Four hours from Da...