The Emperor of Our Nation_To Right a Wrong_Beautiful Ornaments_The Paradox of Mundanity
Catalog Guide:
The Emperor of Our Nation
“Jack, can you imagine if we had Twitter in our day?”“I know, Bobby. The civil rights movement would have happened a lot faster.”“What about in your day, Abe?”“I dare say, young Bobby, the war could have gone very differently.”Jim and Billy entered the room, our favourite to get together and spook the staff when they worked late for the sitting president. “I wonder how many conspiracy theories would have surfaced if we had Twitter back in our day,” said Jim, referring to the stories about my brother’s murder.“He, he. Fake news!” It was Billy. After Billy’s murder, presidents were given Secret ...
To Right a Wrong
The day Mary Anne stopped coming to book club meetings, we all knew what had happened to her. But none of us wanted to say it out loud. Not when the missing posters started popping up around town. Not when the police started asking questions. Not even when her poor mother, bless her heart, went on the local news to beg for Mary Anne to come home.We all knew she was dead. We knew who’d done it, too. But that no good, double-dealing, drunk-as-a-skunk father of hers was a former cop. He knew how to get rid of evidence and clean up a crime scene. And, despite being kicked off the force for drinkin...
Beautiful Ornaments
In a town not too close yet not too far—what would best be described as an inconvenient drive away—I experiencwww.onedoor.cced the distinct misfortune of meeting a couple by the name of Fella and Darling Collins. They are in their house right now; I am safe in a hotel room. In the interest of maintaining my safety, however, I shall not name the hotel nor its location until my second draft. It is not my intention to disparage them, as it is not my place to speak ill of another’s, let’s say, tradition, but it is my duty to recount the events as they occurred.I am a home appraiser for a local interior design m...
The Paradox of Mundanity
Somewhere between the window pane and fly screen of the bus’s window, Ayla’s vision changed. On the surface, everything had been muddled together for a while; it was a common symptom of the humidity that ran rampant in New Orleans. The window pane’s surface was slick with the air's sweat, even more effective at blurring scenery than a fast moving car--and fast her Greyhound bus was not.On her left, an elderly man wheezed into his Blackberry, complaining of a “midsummer malady.” How he found himself remembering his doctoral days; the recollection that heat was the bed of the most virulent bact...