It was a family tradition, to greet each new calamity with a party. It might seem strange, but it was actually rather joyous; the absurdity of cheering and clinking glasses when something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. My earliest memory was of celebrating some failure of my father’s with canapes and champagne. So when the
When I heard Barney’s body hit the ice on a frosty morning it was like a gunshot. I held the phone away and shouted into the mouthpiece, then lay in bed holding my pillow over my head as the ambulance sirens drew closer. Barney, like me, had kept to himself. It was just the two
“Wilford passed this morning. They said one minute he was here and the next he was gone.” “Isn’t that the way it is? We’re like water in a bathtub, moving closer to the drain and tunnel. After all, we are mostly water. “ “That is a horrible way to look at life.” “No, not at
“Follow the recipe exactly,” said Mother. “You’ll delight your stepfather.” So, I braised the beef, cut the carrots and diced the onions, as directed. But I substituted arsenic for the oregano and garnished with pomegranates instead of parsley. And that groping, bad-breathed Judas loved it to the end. **** Brooks C. Mendell Brooks C. Mendell
A fly landed on the bottom of the saucepan that was resting on the drainer. Which was allowed. Because it was on the bottom of the saucepan, not inside it, unlike the fly that had greeted Cora when she’d opened the butter dish on Tuesday morning. It had been dead on its back, right in
Zeus, the child of Titans, ate his own and begat new gods. Some believe the Gills are Science’s revenge for ignoring their warnings. Some say Science genetically engineered them so that a remnant of humanity could survive the great inundations and extremes that resulted from Climate Change. Some say it was just a natural progression
Night falls heavy behind drawn yellow curtains, as the silent face watches me grieve. My father used to keep a small transistor radio in the kitchen, a Zenith from sometime in the 1960’s with brushed silver dials and buttons. As a child it was already an antique, the sound it created hollow and tinny, like
I see you, Madame Coutrot, carefully arranging canapés and petit-fours. Highly sought-after, they were obtained with your husband Jean’s exclusive Polytechnic food-stamps. There’s no gateau (he considers it extravagant), but he’s baked modest cupcakes himself (chocolate, his favourite). Your hand trembles as you insert one small candle. Your body betrays you constantly – the pristine
Me and Shady Granger playing grownup. Me and he. Just past 12 years old. Me chugging an empty whiskey bottle and him fake-smoking a cigarette. Pretending we are like our own parents. His family came from over there. Forbidden part of town. Part of town where the poor folks live, my daddy always said, and
After departing in a blaze of mediocrity, Graham Vasey returned to St. Joseph’s Junior School only twice in his life. The first time, it was being renamed the Graham Vasey Junior School, in dedication to his Booker Prize-winning success. He had sprung from such humble origins; he thanked his schooldays, in several interviews, as a
