Sister Benetrix smelled of vintage plastic and mildew. She was hunched over so her monstrous crucifix hung plumb from her twisted neck and she shuffled along as mechanically as a wind-up ramp walker. She spat when she shouted. If you were sprayed while she scolded you, she would make the sign of the cross over your head and gargle, “Blessed be His name.”
Scott Redner pursued, wooed, and married Zelda Krinsky because his name was Scott and her name was Zelda. After they wed, Scott became an uncommitted alcoholic and forgot everything he knew about cars.
There is a guinea pig in my living room. We are enemies, but neither of us will kill the other. There are only threats. He is besieged and I the besieger and when he needs food or water he squeals and whistles at a volume seemingly impossible for such a runt.
“Hey, asshole!” I never had a glass skull yell at me before. Yet there it was, atop the shelf in my mudroom, taunting me as I walked past. “Haven’t you waited long enough?” it asked.