poisoning ain’t pretty.
Louise Far mer Smith grew up in
I could drop it all on the greasy kitchen
Oklahoma. She has taught English,
floor, but Leo who intentionally hired a cook with
trained as a family therapist, and worked
no sense of smell, would insist we scrape it up and
in a U.S. Congressman’s office. Her stories
serve it. I’m not proud of working here or of
have appeared in magazines including Virginia Quarterly
letting Leo drag me back to his trailer after closing, Review and Bellevue Literary Review which published always saying he couldn’t run the place without me. her “Return to Lincoln,” a 2005 Pushcart nominee. Her Some nights I hate myself.
story, “Apartment on Riverside Drive” took first place in one
It’s not like I’m totally passive. I’ve applied
of Glimmer Train ’s 2006 short story contests. Her work
a dozen places down the shore, but they give me
has been supported by The Ragdale Foundation and Virginia
the runaround. I am overweight, but that don’t
Center for the Creative Arts. She was a 2005 Bread Loaf
mean I’m not polite or don’t know how to make
fellow. She lives in Washington, D.C., where she is completing
the kids laugh.
a story collection, CADILLAC, OKLAHOMA.
48
fictionbrigade.com
The Study Date
Fiction
By Simone Stedmon
With a cigarette in one hand, and a sickly
Instead, I moved to the other side of the room and
orange drink in the other, he lay sprawled out on
precariously perched on the edge of the bed, feeling
the bed. Jazz music was blasting around the room
self-conscious all of a sudden. This was not what I
and he nodded along to the beat, his blonde hair
had expected. I did not fit in with this group at all.
askew and black-rimmed glasses thrown haphazardly
Breaking from his trance, the blonde-haired
on the floor. Surrounding him were a multitude
boy muttered something that sounded like ‘Alright,
of people, all wearing a uniform of skinny jeans
mate?’ followed by a brief pat on the back which I
and rainbow-colored t-shirts and all with the same
assumed meant to make myself comfortable; enjoy.
Cheshire-cat grin etched onto their faces. A slight
Someone pointed towards the TV which was
breeze wafted a strange aroma towards me, and I
showing an episode of Family Guy, although their
became aware that what was being exhaled from the eyes were so glazed that I could not believe that rolled white wands was not tobacco.
they were actually watching it. Whatever was
“Come on in, darlin’,” came a voice that was
happening on the TV was appreciated as a chortle
not the one I sought; the blonde-haired boy’s lips
erupted from beside me. But the laugh seemed
remained motionless. As I was invited into the room,
distorted, mechanical, fake. There was nothing to
the drug became fused with a concoction of other
be scared of here, yet it was like looking into one
curious scents: spilt alcohol seemed to have absorbed
of the circus mirrors that bizarrely morphs the
into every item of furniture and there was the stale
body.
stench of sweat, not entirely covered by past sprays
When I had bumped into him earlier in the
of Lynx that now lined the dressing table. “Fancy a
library, when his blonde hair was neatly in place, he
smoke, love?” leered the same voice, pointing to a few had invited me over to work on an essay. But I had inches of spare bean-bag to his side. I shook my head. pictured something quite different. I assumed we 49
fictionbrigade.com
would be alone. Together we could have talked and they marched on, heads suffocated by the memory of enjoyed each others’ company as we normally did.
stacks of bills piled on kitchen counters, lunches that
The boy who had seemed so rational, who would
needed to be made for the next morning, shelves that
spend an evening with a cup of tea and a book, or
husbands needed reminding to fix. Occasional y an eye
would head down to a pub for a few drinks with
strayed towards a flashing sign or the muffled music
friends was now some sort of peculiar sloth.
escaping from behind the door of a welcoming pub,
I must have stayed for about half an hour,
but their gaze always returned fixedly to the floor. They,
just relishing
like me, were
in the bizarre
pursuing
conversations
relentlessly
Fancy a smoke, love?
that slowly
towards their
emerged.
final destination:
Progressively
caught in the
the fumes were beginning to get to my head and I
monotony of life, unable to change course.
felt myself become dizzy, so I left. I think I passed
I walked this route daily and my feet slapped
unnoticed, as there was no call back into the room. against the pavement instinctively as my mind drifted Disappointment flooded my body as I shut the
back to the room. They had seemed so content, so
door on them. It was like closing a door to a whole liberated from the troubles of tomorrow. Their heads new reality. I left them to delight in their own little
were temporarily free to wander into a world away
world for just a while longer.
from the routine of life. They did not care for money,
An oppressive mist lay over the rows of
or exams, or work. And him. He had not noticed me
oscillated grey buildings which lined my way home,
but then he did not need me in that world. They just
the occasional light shining through a grubby window. needed themselves and that pure sense of calm.
People rushed past, heads down and coats pulled close
But wasn’t the mundane what life was about?
around them. Shoulders occasionally bumped into
Wasn’t living by the rules what we were taught? It
another’s, which was followed by a mumbled apology
was only as I was taking my keys from my bag that
they were already too far away to hear. Like clockwork I was roused from my thoughts and realized I had 50
fictionbrigade.com
made it home. As I stepped over the threshold I
looked at the white walls stretching anodyne towards
a cream stair runner, shoes stacked neatly in a pine
frame, the clock’s insistent ticking. In that moment
I thought of essays that needed writing, letters that
needed filing, clothes that needed washing, and I
shut the front door behind me with a final bang.
Later that evening, having finished off the
Simone Stedmon has had a love for English ever since
last few mouthfuls of lukewarm hot chocolate, I
discovering the alliterative joy of ‘Each Peach Pear
headed to bed. Whilst I repeated my usual routine
Plum’ as a child. She is currently in her third year of
I wondered what would have happened if I had
studying BA English Literature at Cardiff University.
stayed? If I had been that bit more adventurous? I
When she is not studying, Simone enjoys presenting a
pulled off my jumper and was suddenly caught by
student radio show and traveling adventures with friends
the distant scent of smoke that had absorbed itself – even if it’s just pitching a tent in a muddy field! In an into the material. Closing my eyes, I drew the fabric ideal world Simone would like to be writing or presenting towards my face and inhaled.
Children’s programs in a few years time.
51
fictionbrigade.com
Mouth to Mouth
Fiction
By Clare Tascio
Craig is a lifeguard. When I tell people that, the
people.
first thing they ask me is if we met because he
As his girlfriend of five years, Craig must save me
saved me from drowning. They laugh with their
at some point.
mouths open. I don’t know how to answer. I feel
He has chosen this summer to do it.
like I am choking on something soft.
I have been sent away. To Craig’s sister’s house in
New Jersey. Right on the water. I have been sent
People vomit after being resuscitated.
away for the weekend, and have been instructed
not to return
Craig would
with the same
like to save my
face I went
Craig would like to save my life
life.
away with.
I don’t think
he would go pale and scream and pump my chest
My face right now looks something like
with the
mismatched furniture I guess.
desperation of a man in love. Craig would be calm
and cool.
A few days a week Craig gives private swimming
He would smile at me once I pulled back to the
lessons to wealthy housewives. I don’t get jealous.
shore of the living the same way he smiles at me
Craig asked me if I would be. But I don’t get
after kissing me good morning.
jealous when I think of those mothers, impeccably
Craig would like to tell people that he saved my life. groomed and manicured, being instructed by my boyfriend on how to move their perfumed arms
It would reaffirm that Craig is the guy who saves
52
fictionbrigade.com
and kick their waxed legs and breathe and float.
unfair.
Maybe I have a problem. Maybe I don’t love Craig
enough to care if he cheats on me with someone
I am standing on the beach. The sky is overcast.
else’s wife.
You can only see a few feet of ocean, like a grey
But really it’s because I know that Craig loves kids.
tongue slipping in and out of the white fog.
He would never think of throwing their lives into a Suzie didn’t ask when she should expect me. I tailspin by getting caught with their mother under
know where the spare key is.
an oversized monogrammed towel.
I am being unfair. Craig would say I am being
Brother and sister assume I will let myself in.
unfair.
Craig’s sister is a lot like Craig. Suzie is athletic. Tan.
With curly black hair, and brown eyes that glow
gold in the sun. The life she has, kids, house, heavy
couches, is the life Craig wants.
Craig sensed that now was the time for him to save
me. He has tossed me a life raft.
Female Craig.
I am a grey person. Craig is gold and brown and
black. His hope is that with some sun and surf and
salt I will change like a shrimp from cold
Clare is 22, born and raised in Brewster NY. She is
unappealing grey to hot juicy pink.
currently attending Hunter College for creative writing/
studio art. She loves pinot grigio and goat cheese. Preferably
That’s what I said to Craig. He said I was being
at the same time.
53
fictionbrigade.com
Notes From an Inner City School
Fiction
By Ling E. Teo
Luna Silvestre played the flute so beautifully. Her
name meant Silver Moon.
Aleigi was studious, polite and popular. She was a
paradox in a ghetto school.
Kelvin wrote a limerick that involved a private part
of a teacher. His mother came in to meet with the
Edward was perpetually showing off. He forgot,
teacher a second time.
after a while, who he was showing off for, or what
he was showing off.
Catherine, a beautiful muchacha who knew how
to stand up to the boys, loved Green Day and had
Ilkona was enthusiastic for every project.
sepia-flecked, emerald eyes.
Melissa thought she was too good for any project.
Jane reminded you of a good Catholic girl.
Bespectacled Martin was laid back because he was
Little Kerven was the best fighter on the basketball very tall.
court—he protected the ball and played hard in the
face of loss.
Blue-capped Kevin worshipped the ground any
Dominican Yankee walked on.
Jordannie’s temper drove the boys wild. So did her
cascade of dark auburn hair.
Carlenis showed up with Baroque curls one day,
and that day, took on a sweet disposition.
Dakhari said, “Ma president iz black, ma vp is phresh,
n if u don’t vote 4 dem, u’ll get a cap up yo ass.”
Jandy roamed the hallways. He was a demon on
54
fictionbrigade.com
the motorbike. The girls felt tingles when he called to bear. He spoke in rap.
them “whores.”
Alex did not know why he was defensive and edgy,
Jennifer was Puerto Rican, which meant she was
which made him edgier and more defensive.
softer-spoken. Like Luna, she played the flute
beautifully.
Johnlaudy often put on an angry front to impress
the female class bully. He had a crush on Stephanie.
Marcos looked
out of the
Stephanie
window when
could get the
The girls felt tingles when he called them “whores”
the Assistant
fearful class
Principal talked
quiet in a split
to him, just
second. She
to rile the AP further. In a red jumper and flat cap,
tried to cow her mother by reporting her to the
Marcos could pass off as Fat Albert.
Administration for Children’s Services.
Christina was the class brain. Like Joan of Arc, she
Dania was often absent. When she was not absent
suffered for her beliefs.
you noticed her, because she was a large girl.
Roberto frequently forgot where he’d left his brain.
Fausto suffered insults because he was black. He
Raquel wrote that she was from “cats and carriages
wrote beautifully but did not like to share his writing. and dancing marriages, pizza parlors and tallest His eyes shone like diamonds when he was mad.
tailors.”
Nigel was Nigerian. He was gentle, sweet-tempered Brenda was the class bobinchero; she spread the and imperturbable, and therefore did not suffer.
latest gossip with lispy, run-on sentences.
Raphael was white-looking and that was his cross
Sean was the PTA President’s son. He always wore
55
fictionbrigade.com
a smile and a collar shirt. When he wanted, he
with a craving for rice and black beans. Now once
could turn water into wine with his words.
or twice a year, I make rice and beans in honor of
these children and their determination to be happy.
Christian had a twin sister who was as beautiful,
smart and goth-like as she was.
Salome, with the arc eyebrows, held back just
enough to leave the boys feeling empty.
Dariel looked like one of Maurice Sendak’s wild
things. He stole teachers’ Sharpies and tagged every
table, chair and urinal with graffiti.
Little Jesus was caught tagging disused subway cars
with Dariel. He was upset because he now had a
record.
Tremain announced to the class, “Cafeteria smells
like weed, pizza grease, and long-ass balls—in that
order. Dead-ass.”
Sheyla was always tuned into the beat and mood of
the class. She was the class barometer.
Ling E. Teo is a Humanities teacher. She grew up in
Teaching in Inwood, the northern most tip of
Singapore and lived in London, where she won an Asham
Manhattan, I was often overcome, inexplicably,
Award for writing. She currently lives in New York City.
56
fictionbrigade.com
Rainbow Gold
Fiction
By Valerie Tidwell
“Oof !” Thump. Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
having arrived too late—
A rainbow wave of gumballs cascaded
wandered back to their families, distracted.
down the wooden steps and flooded the
restaurant’s entryway: red, green, blue, yellow, and
white balls whizzed out the front door, bounced
into the bathroom, rolled under the host stand.
The compounding rattle caused heads to swivel to
the stairs, and every child’s eyes grew big.
“We’ll help!” shouted a blond four-year-old,
rushing to the scene with the rest of the stampede
and curling his baby-fat fingers with their dimpled
knuckles around as many gumballs as possible,
cramming them into his mouth and pockets.
Valerie Tidwell graduated in 2009 from the University of
Children from upstairs tumbled over the
California, Santa Barbara, with a degree in communication
protesting but still-prone gumball delivery man.
and a minor in professional editing. She did pretty well in
He rose when the final toddler had gingerly passed school, but there is a whole big world out there to explore, him, bruised and battered and bloodied as
and she spent the next two years doing just that, living in
colorfully as the gumballs he had allowed to slip
Taiwan and Italy and traveling in between. As she has
from his arms. The noisy silence of smacking gum not yet managed to make traveling a paying gig, Valerie settled when the entire rainbow had been gathered, sometimes works in restaurants, where the initial inspiration and the children—some blowing bubbles, some
for this story was undoubtedly found. Valerie currently lives
counting their haul under their breath, some crying, in Washington, D.C.
57
fictionbrigade.com
Job Interrogation
Fiction
By Lauren Tolbert
She looked up and saw a pair of grey eyes,
Lauren Tolbert is an occasional
patiently waiting. She looked down and saw a drain
job interviewee who lives in
in the floor. This isn’t an interrogation, it’s a job
Minneapolis, MN. Currently
interview. This isn’t an interrogation, it’s a job
she is a chemist, but is looking
interview. She wanted to melt and run down the
forward to new job opportunities,
drain and out of the room… but asked instead,
hopefully those that come without
“Could you repeat the question?”
an interrogation. This is her
debut publication.
58
fictionbrigade.com
The Heartthrob
Fiction
By Gina Wohlsdorf
- Good party.
torture. He was a pretty face, a magazine cover;
- Yeah. Outta sight.
magazine covers could cover the torture he visited
- Nobody says that, man.
on his pretty, pretty face. Bass line beat a beat for
- I said it.
his feet, ba-BUM-bum-BUM-bum.
- Great, now everybody’ll say it.
Bass line was a baseline. He wasn’t normal; he
- Outta sight.
wanted her to fix him, to fix him she only had to
He smiled, because she was here somewhere. He
love him, to love him she only had to fix him, ba-
just had to march. He was full of marching
BUM-bum-BUM-bum, I’m-a-BUM-
powder, so marching shouldn’t be hard, but it was
bum-BUM-bum. He liked being young and alive
hard, because he missed her, and missing her made and famous and doomed. The heartthrob’s heart everything harder. Like marching, even on
throbbed, ba-BUM-bum-BUM-bum.
marching powder. It was always somebody’s
How could she want more than to be loved by
birthday in Hollywood. Where he grew up, weeks
this pretty, pretty face? The refreshment table had
passed with no birthday parties, so birthday
bowls of pills, so he took a handful and felt
parties felt like parties and not excuses to leap into
better. The pool was red, like devils crying. Like
a pool dyed red. The theme was death. He counted angel blood – he liked that. He’d put it in a song.
fifty grim reaper costumes, but everybody was