A treat for the holidays – Ed.

It was Jenny Cupcake who found the body. An avalanche had exposed a transparent wall of ice; and behind the ice, an elf hung, suspended in ice, arms akimbo and skin blue. His eyes stared forward blankly, and his mouth had dropped open. He looked flash frozen.

Jenny Cupcake tapped the ice with the butt of her Uzi. “You okay in there?”

The elf made no reply; didn’t blink, didn’t move, made no sign that he had even registered Jenny’s presence.

She peered at him. His uniform was outdated but identified as a worker from Sector 7-G. A ragged stump marked the spot where his left thumb had been savagely removed from his hand, and angry looking red gashes criss-crossed his palm. He had probably been a wood worker. (more…)

calliope whine
the clown’s greasepaint
smeared with blood
(more…)

“Mr. Whelan, Mr. O’Keeffe, why do you persist with this ludicrous idea of returning to Dublin? Even on some amoebic intellectual level you pinheads must understand that Dublin is shut to us forever. It is home only to the teeming dead. Teeming! Pressed tightly together in the parks and thoroughfares. Moaning beneath the statues of our baffled Patriots. Staring myopically at nothing. Bereft of stimulus. Swaying in the wind from the Dublin Mountains. Sodden and mildewed by the rain off the sea. There is nothing for you there anymore my little ex-junkie friends. I’m afraid you can never go home. Don’t ask me again.” (more…)

1

I barely smell the burlap smoke anymore, but I remember that it used to burn my throat and water my eyes. I blow into the tin fume-canister until a little flame leaps up then I slap the top closed and squelch the heat. I want the smoke, not the fire. A thousand or so honeybees swarm around the two hives I’ve placed at the edge of Old Man Orchard. I should camouflage them or put them a little deeper into the woods, but the big white boxes need sunlight if I want the bees to survive the long winters, so it’s a tradeoff I guess. (more…)

The sky was a mottled gray-blue, growing little brighter with the coming dawn.  There were still patches of snow in the corners of the courtyard of Barbour Middle School when Brian pulled into his usual parking space in the third row. He eased the old brown Volvo station wagon into Park, grabbing his dented brushed stainless steel mug and his worn leather messenger bag after the engine settled down and stopped. As Brian walked across the wet parking lot, he looked up at the old, two story brick relic of the late 1950’s. The first white “r” and the dot above the “i” had peeled away from the sign on the front of the building, showing a rusted casing beneath. The concrete gutter above the roof over the entry walkway had crumbled a little more over the winter, and snow-melt was dripping from the roof onto the middle of the pitted sidewalk. Despite the superficial flaws, Brian loved the old school. He just hated having to do all of the dirty work. (more…)