Litro #153: Open | Cassia County Fair, As Caroline Understands It

Now she felt stupid, foolish. She didn’t know drunk, hadn’t known that this was drunk, that this is what it felt like. Another snicker shuddered around the group as, one by one, each looked down to see if she really was too drunk to stand. Caroline flushed the same hot red, and tried to ignore them, searching for Henry’s face instead. He still wasn’t looking at her, was keeping his face trained away from hers. She stared hard, willing him to notice her. Read more →

Litro #151: Adrenaline – Smiley Face

“Sir?” The gun weighs a thousand pounds now, but I can still carry it. I try not to, mom, I try not to cry, but I don’t know if I can stop it. I feel the tears build up, building pressure from underneath my eyelids and down into my chest. I see your face, when I watched you leave me at preschool, watched you smile at me, telling me everything would be okay, as I squeezed the smiling stress ball. I feel the weight of the gun, the sweat from the pain killers, the green from the cash register, the rest of my life in front of me, the firmness of the smiley face stress ball, the sand filled elastic, squishing it, squeezing. I want to point this .22 in the moron’s face, but all I can see is his stupid smile, that yellow mocking smile, your smile. Read more →

Litro: 150 Britishness: Tygrys

There’s a stranger walking down the street.
His skin is plastered with a thick layer of dust and worn out at the knuckles. Like a wild cat, he treads lightly and barefoot on the wet asphalt. When he keeps still, he’s almost invisible, hidden in the thick paper and food waste undergrowth of the city streets shrouded in dense smog and a cloud of bad breath of eight million hungry commuters. He pauses, he breaths in the hot air – it stings the soft tissue of his lungs, like molten metal. It smells like deep fried fish and chips - thick like oil, salty like the ocean. Read more →