Mat walked up to the pool, crouched down, and dipped his hand in the water. The air outside was crisp and cool. Summer had fallen apart all of a sudden this year, and the leaves were already turning to bright yellows and reds in the middle of September. The pool water felt warm on his hand, and so he left it in and let the water flow around his fingers while he looked at the level. He’d noticed earlier that week the waterline was almost below the skimmer. The pump would be sucking air in soon enough, he thought, so there was clearly something wrong.
“Where are you???” Read more →
Sol dries her tears in her sleeves, weeping. Why can’t I be normal like an apple? She asks herself while waiting. Clara, her friend, appears at the door. Rapunzel, two braids on each side of her shoulders, a red and black pyjama, comfortable. By the looks of it she hasn’t been out yet and only heard the sound of the ring because she was feeding the dove in the living room. It’s her new pet. She loves it. I will send a message and wrap rolled paper in its little legs. Did you know they do this? She asks.
Where would you send your message? Sol asks, forgetting her tears for a moment. They can fly 1800 kilometers to deliver them, Clara explains, not really answering it. She moves away and Sol walks in. Incredible, Sol says, momentarily distracted by the white plump, immobile like a stuffed animal. But soon she begins again. I have to talk to you, she says, just as she told him. In the movie, the immigrants were arriving in France but the Nazis didn’t let them stay. It is like the refugee crisis all over, she affirms. Read more →
Of course, I didn’t know he was a cop at first. He was bald and had a white beard that hung to his chest. He wore a lumber jacket, jeans with a hole in one knee, and black leather boots. As he extended his badge toward me, I noticed his fists were overgrown with old tattoos. Before he knocked, I’d been doing dishes and the steam still rose off the water in long silken lines. My own hands, dripping with suds, seemed soft.
He said he was looking for a man named James Sparks and that this was his last known address. I explained that I was a new to Vancouver and, as he could see by the basement suite’s scuffed and pocked walls, the apartment saw a constant current of tenants. From his back pocket, he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. As he looked down to unfold it, I saw he had a spider tattoo on the crown of his head. Read more →
I woke up on the roof, stiff inside my clothes, because some roosters were screaming in the streets. Like they had anything worth reporting. The sun wasn’t up yet. But it was coming. I folded my blanket and locked it in my suitcase, then wrapped my suitcase in a black contractor bag and hid it by one of the chimneys fingering out from the roof. Then I sat on the ledge and waited for the sun to come up a bit. Most of the sky was purple but between the clouds and the mountains, a band of yellow was widening, getting bright. It was that brightness I was waiting for. My night vision doesn’t exist. I took the fire escape down to the street only after I could see the steps. Read more →
They turned a corner, and the hospital came into view. Memories of his father’s illness came rushing back. His mother parked the car and Owen stepped out, legs numb. Parker readjusted his grip on his guitar case and nudged him. Owen turned, and shot his friend a reassuring smile, but it didn’t quite reach him.
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As “guest editor” of the fiction section of this issue of carte-blanche, I had to read 122 fiction submissions, then select maybe four or five pieces that I liked. One story I read was about a dystopian office space. Another was about a mother who starts making breakfast in the middle of the night as a kind of cry for help. Later, I felt bad a little for having to “reject” a story by a man whose author bio said that he lived in a house with his lovely wife and gorgeous daughters. I thought, “The gorgeous daughters are going to be so disappointed.” Read more →