As published in “The Valdosta Magazine,” Winter 2010.
The Christmas Box by Monique Nagel
Early on Christmas morning my family gathered around the tree my stepfather had cut down, decorated with ornaments that we kids had used our entire lives. Our home was decorated with popcorn garlands, lights, construction paper chains, and cards everywhere. The entire Holiday Season was spent with Jingle Bells frolicking on the radio and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer flying across the television. We played UNO at the kitchen table and laughed until we cried. My mother and stepfather were the glue that held this happy whirlwind together. Read the rest of this entry
Monocle, Owl, Lamp
Linz, Austria. April 30, 1945.
A man moved casually down a dark alley, unafraid of the dense fog and dark shadows. Seen only from behind he was any old Joe; any man with an overcoat and hat, collar up against the cold winter night. He stopped in front of a doorway, checked the address against a paper in his hand and knocked.
An elderly gentleman with uncommonly long fingers answered the door and took the invitation that the visitor held out. His hand slid into his suit pocket and retrieved a monocle with which he read the engraved words. The elderly butler removed the glass piece and deposited it into his pocket before addressing the gentleman on the step. Read the rest of this entry
As published in “The Valdosta Magazine” in the Summer 2010 issue.
Do you remember Grandma’s farm? My Grandma’s farm was in Echols County, Georgia in an area known as Mayday, and it was a wonder. Watching a black-widow in the burn barrel out in the back field. Picking up snake skins out of the tall golden grass, counting the rattles and then checking all over because he might still be around. Memories of the farm. Read the rest of this entry
Invert, Collate, Transverse
Anna Yulevic looks at her hand, really studying it. Grime is etched in each fold of skin, under each nail a black line of filth. She looks at the other one, holds it up to the light – same thing. A line of drool slips out of the corner of her mouth and slides slowly down her chin. She does not notice.
How different her future had been planned. How different her life had been. She had come to London a prominent doctor in her field – disorders of the skeleton. It was the summer of 1911.
One short month ago… Read the rest of this entry
Mugwumps, Excoriate, Suss
The rain came hard, a long steady downpour. It was cold outside, windy and wet and this evening that made for a great night at the Boar’s Head. The tavern was warm and well-lit, the music was loud and the wenches sassy.
Two tall mugs of ale slammed down on the table in front of Matthew Nelson, spraying foam and rocking the table. The girl gave him a tired smile, missing a few teeth and clucking at him. Read the rest of this entry