A Siege of Elephants_After the Fall_The Ghost of Red_The Moon Over the Moors
Catalog Guide:
A Siege of Elephants
The question hung over the dinner table like the sword of Damocles.“You need to eat, Pop,” Cindy said, gently patting Grandpa John’s arm.He sat at the head of the table, his hands hanging by the fingers from the edge. “I’m waiting for Audrey.”“Pop—”“Leave him alone, Cin,” Dave, Cindy’s husband, interrupted, his tone cautious. He never acknowledgewww.onedoor.ccd her glare as she tapped an index finger against her plate.Pop, his unfocused eyes looking somewhere beyond the room, beyond the house, folded his hands in his lap. “She won’t be long. She's washing her hands.”Dave studied the half-eaten steak on his ...
After the Fall
AFTER THE FALLMy knees were shaking when I walked into the dining room of the Prince Charles hotel. What had possessed me to ask Gerald to meet me here? I had imagined that an initial meeting in a public place would be easier, forcing us to chat about the weather instead of tearing our guts out. Now, room service seemed much more sensible. No curious eyes would stare at me if I lost control behind my locked door. A server escorted me towards a table for two by the window. A hauntingly familiar stranger was seated there, sipping on a glass of water and staring at the eight-page lunch menu. He ...
The Ghost of Red
The sirens. The screams. The flashing fire truck lights fronting a flaming background of red-orange heat. Unbearable heat. My mother is still in there. I’ve got to save her. I feel the tightness in my throat as panic claws at the back of my neck.“Ma’am, please come with me.” I turn my head to a very concerned firefighter holding out his hand to me. Ray. The embroidery on his coat ruffled with his movements. His sandy blonde hair clung to his damp, tan forehead. He looked so young. Too young.I want to take it, his hand, and follow him to safety. But I can’t. My feet are cement, melting into the...
The Moon Over the Moors
TW: physical violanceThe bus was five minutes late as per usual, always late and always by five minutes. It is strangely orderly in its tardiness. Always the same driver, the only one in town. His name is Tommy, Tommy McLeish. He doesn't remember me, which is to be expected; high school was a long time ago and my appearance has changed considerably, his hasn't. “You getting off here, big man!?” He shouts to me, his only passenger. “naw, how come?” “Would you mind just getting off now? I'm bursting for a shite” No point in arguing with the man. He drops me on a long strip of country road lin...