01 September 2012

The Wish Granters

Samuel rolled the idea around in his head. He ran through the possible outcomes; none of them proved satisfactory. In fact, he had been thinking about this for most of the morning and was not able to come to a decisive conclusion.

He decided it was time to go to his mom on this. She always knew the answers… and his dad was at work.

“Mom?” Samuel said as he entered the kitchen. An electrical plug hung off the counter. He picked it up and wondered to what it belonged. It was a much thicker cord than most of the plugs his parents used for their electronics, the ones they reminded him were not to play with. Samuel put the plug in the palm of his hand to gauge its weight. He wondered if it was heavy enough to break open a walnut with this plug; he bet it was. He pulled the cord to reach the bowl that his mom kept the walnuts in. The cord stopped short.

Samuel tugged it harder. The large mixer toppled over and brought three containers sitting next to it over as well. Flour and sugar spilled out onto the counter’s wood surface.



No, sorry, you go first.

OK… my name is Selena. Well, no, it’s Gretchen, but I think Selena is so much more interesting, don’t you?

What? Oh, I think John is a fine name. Do you know Tanya?

Our host, Tanya. Do you know her?

No, I don’t know who Phil is, but I’m glad he brought you. I’ve known Tanya for years. Our kids were in a playgroup together.

My kids? They were… are 12 and 15. Rambunctious, but what kids aren’t, right? Teenagers – boy! Just can’t be warned enough.


All flights are grounded due to the storm

Regardless of when the flights took off, it was going to be bedlam, a fact that did nothing to improve Trish’s state of mind. Her two-day business trip, the one she had to take because Sanders couldn’t, would now be a three-day one. She would fall yet another day behind in reports, paperwork, mail and the other minutia that kept her wheels spinning without ever getting her ahead. Goddamned Sanders; if that wife of his tightened his leash any further he wouldn’t be able to leave home.

Her boss knew his cards and played his hand thoughtfully.

Hey, you want to be treated equal – you would be the number two for this trip. But if your kids take precedence…of course they take precedence, you prick. This should not be unique to my sex.


The only sounds echoing throughout the darkened castle were the clapping of her wooden walking stick against the stone floor and the staccato ticking of the clock.

Medb pulls her bent form with great effort to the heavy wooden door of her bed chamber. After a pause to regain strength, she continues her trawl to the worn circular rug, its brilliance faded from use, in front of a standing mirror. Mustering all of her might, she heaves off her robes; allowing them to fall, leaden, in a velvety pool around her. Sunken eyes, the color of algae, stare back at her from the mirror. She winces at the sight of her naked body; her wrinkled, pale torso; arms stained in a web of thin blue veins and wiry, gray hair, barely contained with an old sliver of driftwood. She points a trembling finger at the clock as flakes of powdery skin float from her. Faint chimes from the town’s clock tower strike. Marred teeth emerge from behind indiscernible lips in a smile – the hour is nigh.

Her bones crack and joints pop as she straightens to full height. The scent of mold emanating from her is replaced by a faint kiss of clover. Her chafing skin is replaced by creamy, unblemished epidermis. Shriveled, hanging breasts become full and round.

The Night the Gin Froze - Epilogue

In 410 A.D., a Roman soldier stood, sword in hand. At the other end of the sword, on the ground, lay his fellow soldier. The lifeless body belonged to the husband of the woman he desired. The fierce wind, known in this part of the world as an ally on the battlefield, whipped through the field with such force it caused the murderer to falter in his step. He welcomed the wind—counted on it to spread the smell of blood. Hungry dogs with the scent in their noses found the body quickly. The soldier watched as they devoured the corpse. He was so pleased with his cunning—he wished he could brag of his ingenuity. But the soldier had been sliced in the struggle; blood pulsed from his forearm. The dogs were starving, and had been for some time. Girth was helpful in battle, but not in flight.

The soldier was outnumbered. His blood mingled with that of his victim, as it seeped into the soil.

The Night the Gin Froze - Part VII


Oh Shit, the Orange Blossom!” Thomas yelled leaping up from the couch. Puzzlement passed through the room.
“The Orange Blossom!” Thomas said, making agitated hand gestures.

“Saying it at a higher pitch is not clearing anything up,” Alan said.

“The Orange Blossom tradition – we haven’t done it yet.”

The others let out a collective “ohhhh.” All except Brittany, who was again left out. Charlene leaned forward to explain, “We have this silly tradition of drinking an Orange Blossom whenever we get together. It is tres importante.”

Brittany, leaning as close as she could without falling, nodded while thinking that kissing Charlene might not repulse her.