“Geez, I can almost feel sorry for her,” Lyle mutters once we make it safely outside. “Her whole fucking life is falling apart.” “At least she has her husband,” I say lamely, pulling the phone out of my purse. “God, I would give anything for a cigarette.” Lyle silently pulls a pack out of his… Continue Reading
Tag Archives: Plaster of Paris
Plaster of Paris; chapter four, part two
I bring up Paris’s birthmother, something both of us have let slide. She did call Paris the afternoon he was hit. Is it merely a coincidence that on the day she calls, Paris is hit? That’s too much to swallow, although coincidences do occur. Lyle and I look at each other, thinking the same thing. … Continue Reading
Plaster of Paris; chapter four, part one
I hurry home and take a quick nap before hopping in the shower. Nothing feels as good as the water running down my body. The steam soothes the prickliness I feel, but to my horror, I start to cry. The tears I’ve been repressing all night long storm to the surface and spill over, mingling… Continue Reading
Plaster of Paris; chapter three, part three
Per agreement, they didn’t try to find the teenager or even speculate about whom she might be. Mrs. Frantz was too tense to relax, but Mr. Frantz managed to enjoy much of the local flavor, especially the spirits of the land. He was fond of rum, which was plentiful in supply. Mrs. Frantz sat in… Continue Reading
Plaster of Paris: chapter three, part two
“Lyle, honey, we’re here.” I tap him gently on the shoulder, not wanting to disturb him. He looks up, his eyes blank. “Hi,” Lyle says bleakly, not even attempting to smile. He struggles to stand up, finally hauling himself off his ass. “Mrs. Jenson.” He holds out his hand to Mrs. Jenson, who steadfastly ignores… Continue Reading
Plaster of Paris; chapter three, part one
Lyle and I move a bit away to an unoccupied couch. Now that there’s nothing else to do, I can’t help but notice our surroundings. There are people everywhere, with every kind of wound imaginable. One woman has an angry gash from her collarbone to her belly. A knife wound, by the indication of the… Continue Reading
Plaster of Paris; chapter two, part one
“Hello?” I have to admit I’m a trifle snippy in my tone. I do not like coitus interruptus, even if I am still undecided about whether there will be coitus or not. “Oh my god! Rayne, is that you? I can’t believe it!” It’s Lyle, and he sounds more agitated than I’ve ever heard him… Continue Reading
Plaster of Paris; chapter one, part two
“Rainbow!” She greets me warmly, using my given name instead of Rayne which is what I prefer. She and my late father were hippies and named me Rainbow Freedom Liang and my sister who is three years younger—almost to the day—Liberty Moonbeam Liang. Or is that Liberty Justice Liang? I can never remember her middle… Continue Reading
Plaster of Paris; chapter one, part one
“Wake up, Rayne.” I am being shaken, and it’s not a pleasant sensation. “Go ‘way,” I croak, vainly attempting to elude the hands that are shaking me. “It’s almost noon,” the voice persists. “Get up!” I open one eye to a concerned Paris. “Saturday. March,” he adds. This has been our ritual for the past… Continue Reading