On the Spon-Com Circuit
by Mike Sauve
Issue No. 181 ~ June, 2012
Struck down by subatomic particles in subatomic nuclear explosions leading to: yes, internal fireball. This the fate of Aunt Claire, who once yelled at me for pulling her dog’s tail.
Struck down by subatomic particles in subatomic nuclear explosions leading to: yes, internal fireball. This the fate of Aunt Claire, who once yelled at me for pulling her dog’s tail.
Dementia got up and started wandering, tasting food from the plates of strangers.
The back roads echoed inside her stripped bare minivan: no carpet, no rubber, no foam; loud and tinny, fume free, safe for Birdie.
Doc decides I need more blood to the brain.
Harry threw a nearly bare hind leg in the trash. Stan threw a leg in as well.
One day an eighteen-year-old girl slept in past noon.
He does this easy. Calm. He takes a minute to let the jitters pass. Crosses his arms. Stands up straight. Slow, deep breaths.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” she calls as she barges through the saloon doors with five glasses on a tray, oblivious to the scarlet flush that tips her daughter’s ears.
The town pleaded with the Lord, but the sand began to take their towers. One story at a time, the towers sank into the ground. No one knew why.
Across the boulevard there were still old buildings. An elderly woman appeared and threw a bucket of steaming water at the pavement. He crossed the boulevard and realized she was scrubbing excrement.