It’s past midnight on a Sunday night. The room is dark. A dim light glows from a television set. Steven, middle-aged with a mole on the side of his nose, is stretched out on a green twill recliner, beside him is an amber ashtray filled with ash and three cigarette butts. His eyeballs roll, roll, and roll, their lids flutter as he struggles to keep them open. The scent of whiskey is on his breath. The drone of the TV lulls him to sleep. His breathing is slow and heavy, saliva dribbles from the corner of his mouth and onto his beard; with a loud snort he awakens. Groaning, he tumbles out of the chair and staggers off to bed – he can no longer delay the potential horrors of the next day.
YOU ARE READING
Speaking in Mirrors
Short StoryIllustrated short stories. Seeking connections, a glimpse or a sigh; stale hotdogs and greasy beef jerky; reincarnation and landfills; King for the day; whiskey, lacquered hair and keeping happiness – tall tales of a small city.
