Anything Can Happen

“Why do you think you’re an expert on me?” I asked Jim. We were on another construction job together doing some demolition. It felt good sledge hammering the walls.

“Listen, kid. You’re eighteen and you gotta drop this attitude. People don’t appreciate it.”

“Sure, Jim. Whatever you say.”

“Listen, kid. I’ve seen the world and I know what it’s like.” Jim lifted his shirt to reveal a .45 pistol. “See this. I’ve had a gun on me all day. You never would’ve known. Anyone is capable of anything.”

Jim pulled the pistol cautiously. Fumbling it in his hands he–– POP!!!!

From Guest Contributor Steve Colori

Bachelor Keep

Roger surveyed his creation. It truly was the greatest castle the world had ever known, with impregnable walls and towers on a scale that previous ages would have found miraculous. And unlike the architects of the past, who built at the command of their liege, and using his resources, Roger had built his castle on his own.

The location was perfect too, in a remote landscape that lone travelers found hard to navigate, not to mention an army. He had not seen a single visitor during its construction.

Now, all Roger had to do was wait for someone to attack.

The Field

They wanted to build condominiums there, but when the construction crew arrived, Rufus scared them away.

A cluster of songbirds burst from the long grass every time Rufus barked. The neighborhood knew that he commanded the abandoned field, not the city council, not the eager developers. The pitbull had fought off Animal Control and the Humane Society enough times to have earned his dominion in perpetuity.

Rufus wasn't a stray. He belonged to the field, ever since his former owner passed and left him to fend for himself.

Rufus would die before he allowed anyone to take away his field.

Infernus

Key, copper, brassed to pocket. All my pockets, cash folded at the corners. Dirty, keep my fingers pointed down. Pennies in mouth, brassy taste bitter on my tongue a cancer canker sore. Lincoln freed the slaves. Hopeless. Key in slot, key in slot, key in slot.

Down the stairs, construction lot, empty hole, the copper and stone and concrete, vacated bones, constructed homes. The crane a symbol. The modern bird, flightless, tall, littered in locust stone. Watch the step.

Brick dreams stacked red on red. Maybe brownish red. Brick red. Crayola whitewash. I can’t forget my key ever. Don’t forget.

Genre: Joyce