Fiction of the Day
The House with the Mezzanine
By Dan Bevacqua
I was supposed to middle-man these people into a situation of potential annoyance—if not harassment? Me? The poor kid from Jersey?
I was supposed to middle-man these people into a situation of potential annoyance—if not harassment? Me? The poor kid from Jersey?
I was slapped and hurried along in the private applause of birth—I think I remember this. Well, I imagine it anyway—the blind boy’s rose-and-milk-and-gray-walled (and salty)
The disaster was great for me and Scud. We were given time off school to help clear up the beaches. Not that we did much.
The old man inserted the green betelnut between the molars of his good side, and bit it in half. He thoughtfully removed the nut. He planed away a little of the inner pulp, carefully, with a battered, broad-nailed thumb. This old man was one of the sixteen chiefs of Belau, but he had a laborer’s hands.
She would like to believe the appreciation of beauty is never a waste. But this does not an essay write.
Story opens, Mr. Redding is coughing in a cafe by the Yocona River, really whamming it out between his knees. He’s got on penny loafers with pennies in them, yellow socks,
Lorenzo is a quiet, even-tempered man of independent means who has come to accept full-fledged addiction to his playthings. Waking up in the middle of the night, he stares across his moonlit
One at a time, the armed men come down dusty, winding gullies to the steeper arroyos, their chaps and boots glinting in the afternoon sunlight. They descend gulches to the floor of the canyon, a thin band of trees and rock that winds along the creekside. Sixteen men who have never seen one another before, but who are expecting one another, since no one else would care to make the journey to this canyon, or is even aware of its existence.
I mean psycho can’t exist, entertaining invisible ideas about people, including yourself, means that they worry you. They make you a worrier.
Chuckles sounded at odd places around the table. “Ten-sions are oddly distributed here tonight,” Jessica thought.“There’s too much going on of which I’m not aware... I’ll have to develop new information sources.”
Later that night we went to a science laboratory where we were shown a new Abbe microscope. Strindberg listened intently to the technician who demonstrated the improvements over the older type. Then he asked to borrow it and disappeared into