Dead or Alive
by Alain Marciano
Issue No. 203 ~ April, 2014
LOOK AT HER, undulating like a snake and disguised as a goddess. Anyway, she's more life in her than most people I know. Vibrates. And it's still a good Sunday.
LOOK AT HER, undulating like a snake and disguised as a goddess. Anyway, she's more life in her than most people I know. Vibrates. And it's still a good Sunday.
He walked through to the dark, smoky part of the café and eyed the table he assumed had to be his.
Perhaps I leaned forward and breathed on her alabaster neck, or perhaps I reached up to explore the valley between her shoulder blades that stood out from her shirt. I can’t remember.
Vijay grinned. As the nurse, record keeper, orderly, compounder, and often - as now - the doctor too, Vijay knew exactly what to do. It wasn't just luck that had helped him hang on in this dispensary for fifteen years.
He leans down and kisses the back of her neck. She and I both stop breathing. She is entranced. I am horrified.
They had called upon Allah for forgiveness. They had prayed harder—with their carbi. And, much more fervently than ever, they had beseeched Allah to bring Ado back.
So I gave him the meat, and the moment I’d put it down and stepped away, he pulled up the corners of his snout to show me his yellow canines and snarled at me.
Behind the gas station, a fence spread out maybe an acre into the distance, and about a dozen goats had their noses buried in the grass. Dale hiked his pants up and jumped up onto the fence but couldn't keep his balance, so he settled on leaning. He pulled a stick of beef jerky out of his shirt and smelled it like it was an expensive cigar, thought about life after death for a minute, about how he was making his living in the world’s most uncrackable mystery.
Elinore liked the smell of the sawdust as they climbed the stairs to the second story. She admired the smoothness of the unfinished floors, the extreme emptiness of the hallways. In a small blue bathroom next to the master bedroom she and Lucy leafed through a Playboy magazine that Lucy’s father had thrown away.
Woody looked up and down the car; his head swiveled smoothly left and right in a bit of calculated theater. He’d already chosen a victim for his disarming smile, a nervous woman with two young children, all of them wearing I LOVE NEW YORK polo shirts still creased from the store shelf.