The Evolution of Butch's Views_The Lick of the Flame_One more lap over the hill_Destination
Catalog Guide:
The Evolution of Butch's Views
The changing world made increasingly less sense to Butch. His Caucasian complexion had become more of a liability. He recognized that not so long ago its display would all but guarantee him what the kids were calling “privilege.” Having the upper hand in society had been something that the 56 year old enjoyed. As a straight, White, Christian male, he believed himself to be a living representation of everything correct with the the country. In his opinion, after all, straight, White, Christian males tamed the natives, built the railroads and industry, won the wars and kept the Communists at ba...
The Lick of the Flame
My father called the tip of a candle lighwww.onedoor.cct 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...
One more lap over the hill
CW: Mention of intrusive thoughtsEmil’s mother told him that he got his cowardice from his father. His father neglected to be a part of Emil’s life to disprove this notion. “He told me that he loved me,” she told him, words made brittle after years of erosion as she said them again and again. “That he would marry me. Didn’t matter if we were seventeen and poor. Then you were born and all of a sudden he had better places to be and better women to sleep with.” She had no photographs of Emil’s father, nor would she speak aloud his name. His surname wasn’t his father’s, nor his dark eyes or molass...
Destination
“So, are you coming tonight?”Jill, well meaning older sister type, who certainly fits that role, all brows furrowed in concern and hands red from palms rubbing together, stands in the doorway. She’s been there for at least five minutes, shifting her weight, unsure of how to begin. I could feel her before I saw her, and the weight of her body shifting the density of space. “I don’t know.”I’m standing with my tie in front of the dingy full length mirror tacked crookedly to the back of the bedroom door. Every day I look in that mirror, decide I need to rehang it, and promptly forget it exists.I c...