tragicoptimist

The backdoor screen slammed shut as Shelly descended the stairs. She was quietly crying. Icy snow and slush slowed her way through the yard and the weight of winter emptied the afternoon of its sounds into a whispering December hush. She got to the gate and the cold metal handle stubbornly budged under her gloves but finally clacked open. She pushed and it scraped against the ground giving just enough space for her to squeeze out to the alley behind. It was deserted outside : Christmas Eve and the world was abandoned for the interior glow of television holdiay specials. » Read more «

– Cincos dólares por noche. Por adelantado.
Jack fumbled with the wad of bills stuffed in his wallet. Just under twenty dollars plus a few Costa Rican colóns that would do him no good here. The bus from the border cost more than he had thought. Panama was expensive.
– Bueno. Dos noches por favor. He put his last crumpled ten on the counter and pushed it under the black grate. Better save something to eat with later.
– Última puerta a la derecha. The mustached man took a key from the wall and slid it to him. He pointed to the end of the hall and went back to gnawing on his spent cigar. » Read more «

the last passengers boarded the bus and the engine started low. she looked up at the window empty leaning against the cement pillar of the greyhound station with her arms crossed. the late afternoon sun warmed the air but she could hear the first whispers of autumn in the salt breeze. he was already aboard, waiting in the aisle for the others to take their places. when he arrived to his row he put his military green totepack in the little space remaining overhead and sat down by the window near the front of the bus. from inside she appeared small and delicate against the cracked square block rising beside her. her pale dollskin and long brown horsehair blurred through the thick glass. she was doing her best to smile.
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the phone rings : she someone screams, crying. leon took the call trying to understand the sounds sputtering from the other side. he tapped his head and turned, what the fuck is going on, what’s wrong ? sarah was leaning on the front of the truck, half-emptied brandy bottle in hand. the bar had closed forty some minutes ago but they were still there, wasting outside under the dim stoplight intermittently flashing yellow. » Read more «

There were four people in the van but no one was speaking. The dirt road below tumbled as it travelled slowly along, shaded by thick pine trees to one side and low, dry brush to the other. Only Jenny could see the bay and the San Juan Islands floating somewhere between the water and the morning mist dispersing. The others were in the back where all the windows were covered. No one was speaking but the sound of the brown van clunking on the uneven dirt road filled the empty silence.
Before, as they had turned off onto a secondary gravel road, the conversation was lively and jovial. » Read more «