Filed under: fiction
She colored all her flesh chartreuse and all her hair neon pink.
That was for visibility.
Clad only in these hues and a pair of black flip-flops, she walked through the heart of the city, striding briskly, with purpose, to indicate she was going somewhere and was not merely on display.
That was for dignity.
She met the eyes of everyone who would meet hers, neither challenging them nor giving them succor.
That was for honesty.
She walked into the building, nodded politely to the woman at the information desk, and got on the elevator to go to the 31st floor.
That was for practicality.
She entered the suite and the receptionist welcomed her by name. At workstations, in cubicles, and in offices people stopped and looked at her and applauded.
That was for chutzpah.
“A few more times here and in the other cities,” the director said, “and we’ll start the ads linking her to our highlighters. Everyone’s going to want them. This is the greatest product launch ever!”
That was for money.
Filed under: Catsignal content
the coyote chorus,
sopranos, altos, tenors -
pale autumn moon
(originally published in Modern Haiku 35.2)
Filed under: fiction
Dave opened the door to his home and walked in. He took off his cap and jacket and hung them on the coat tree. As he turned to go into the living room he froze in place.
There stood Missy, and she was armed; a custard pie with a high dome of whipped cream rested, rather heavily, in her right hand.
“Missy,” Dave said, “I see you are standing there armed with a custard pie with a high dome of whipped cream. It is resting, rather heavily, in your right hand.”
“Nothing gets past you, Dave. That includes this pie.”
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Filed under: haiku
frost advisory -
air conditioner
still in the window
Filed under: fiction
A quiet rumble of thunder floated across the blue sky.
“That’s all this day needs,” Marla said to herself. “A little melodrama.”
The door flew open and the knob banged against the wall for the nth time that day as Lance came in for the final box.
“Make that ‘a little more melodrama,’” she corrected.
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Filed under: haiku
warm night cools
possum stink
wafts in through window
Filed under: fiction
The storm raged on, showing no signs of abating, and nearly covering the sound of gunshots inside the Salvorson mansion.
Three men, who had come from different parts of the mansion, stood around the body of their late, unlamented business partner, Brock Salvorson. He was lying at the bottom of a long, steep flight of stairs.
“If it weren’t for the multiple gunshot wounds, we could have said he fell,” Ian Irwin said.
“I think we must also rule out suicide,” Philip Ordell added.
“Gentlemen,” said Tate Fanchon, “one of us is a murderer.”
“And we all have motive for killing the S.O.B.,” Ordell said.
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Filed under: haiku
full moon
the dogs see a lot
to bark at
Filed under: fiction
The funeral had ended. The casket was buried. The dinner at the church had been eaten. The guests had expressed their sympathies and gone.
They were back at the house now, and it was just family. Helen was straightening things up, whether they needed to be straightened or not. Her Uncle Curtis was in the room with her, picking things up, studying them fondly, and setting them down again. Two people were missing.
“Where’d they go?” Helen asked her uncle.
“To Father’s study. The moment the last guest left, they both made a beeline back there to start going over his papers again. They’re going to work out to the penny what he was worth, and no matter what they learn they’ll be angry.”
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Posted on October 30th, 2008 by bryon
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