Behind the Veil_The Fire Spitting Bambino_Climax Street_My Acacia
Catalog Guide:
Behind the Veil
It’s a quarter to ten, a half-an-hour past sunset, on Saturday, August 9, 2008, and Alexander Blackwell is headed out to the Utopia, a Blues bar on the rue de l’Ouest. He has a date with Yasmina, whom he met on the net. He’s wearing a beat-up black leather jacket (just for the style, not for the weather), a pair of old ripped up blue jeans covered with paint, a black t-shirt with “The Who” and a silhouette of Pete Townshend that he bought at a concert in the Twin Cities back in ’82, 26 years ago. It’s a relic that he cherishes. Black Italian lace-up dress shoes are his standard, whatever else ...
The Fire Spitting Bambino
The Fire Spitting Bambino This Thursday, April 18th, 2019 is like any other at the Hudsons’ house, aka Bill’s Villa. Being a security supervisor at Amazon, Benjamin Hudson has woken up earlier than the rest as usual to report to work. His wife, Jean Hudson, has to drop their 11-year-old Jimmy Hudson to school before proceeding to Westston College where she works as a tutor. Jean’s visiting brother, Haman Morgan, is the only one to leave the house late because he has “a few things to do in town,” as he said two days ago when he came calling. So they leave him home alone. The Hudsons had reloca...
Climax Street
“Again!” Mr. Nox snarled. “Colvin, a corpse could shoot better than that!”For the twenty-first time that day, I had missed my target by a matter of twenty metres. The lightbulb I had shattered had landed upon the mountain of ceiling tiles that I had amassed on the floor. My heart was racing at light speed and the room was a vibrating blur of colours, yet I steadied my www.onedoor.cchands and fired the slender, black gun. The bullet ricochetted off of the back door, before embedding itself onto the far wall, a full ten metres from the silhouette. “Pathetic,” Mr. Nox muttered. “You will not leave this room un...
My Acacia
Mentions of domestic abuse, emotional manipulation, self-harm and suicide references, mental health issues and mild swearing. No one sees the wolf but me; cobalt grey fur and piercing eyes, one blue and one green. She’s gorgeous so it seems fitting that her name is Acacia meaning ‘queen of the wolves.’ Red pearls bubbled up through the tears in my skin, melting and merging into one another to create a crimson river. Over time they would knit together and form silver lines on my once untarnished canvas. I am simply paper that has been painted on, a lottery card that has been scratched at. A s...