As their lips met, Herbie poked his head out from the pocket of X’s dress. The animals moving about them were no longer animals but glowing orbs, and behind what had been their animal faces, he saw them for who and what they really were. He didn’t have an answer—he was just a hamster after all—yet he understood the meaning of magic and that there was no greater magic than this. Sticking his nose into the air, he sniffed out the scent of love. He knew it was love because it was the only thing that was able to make her heart beat the way it was beating right now. It made him happy, so happy he twitched his whiskers the same way she twitched her nose. And to think that only yesterday he had lived his life in a cage, not knowing of the strange beauty that existed in…
The gray sky teases me. I want rain. A downpour? Flash flooding? A drizzle loud enough to wake me up an put me back to sleep. There’s a door by my feet but my interest lies elsewhere. There’s so many options and frustrations. I don’t want any of it. Just let me be.
It must be nice to see one’s work issued by the government.
You have to give her credit for it, she made an industry
out of having had a hard time of it, even if today she lunches
with the likes of Oprah and Jessica Mitford.
Had there been enough good parts, she could have
made a fine actress. She would have made a powerful Josie
Hogan, you know, from that play by Eugene O’Neill, or that
haunting wife of Macbeth, or, better yet, Hamlet’s dear mother.
Instead, she became a bestselling poet.
Something about her reminds me of a circus, a tented
carnival with a snake-man called Scaly and a three-breasted
lady. Step right up and hear her tale of unparalleled woe.
Avoid the door on the right, or you might get her confused
with the tattooed midget in yellow tights and his aqua tunic.
Tell the tale of your miserable past: how
you were beaten and mistreated, and how
you experienced unwanted advances. Why not
explain once again what it was like to have to eat
barbecued bologna on Christmas morning?
Now there’s human suffering.
The royalties mount beyond anyone’s count.
Rake it in while it lasts. There’s the 5-bedroom townhouse
in a fashionable part of Harlem, the mansion down
in swampy Carolina, a wee property along the Hudson
and, rumor has it, a pied-á-terre in a posh section of Paris.
The newest new book is just coming out in a new
waterproof edition. The text, it is said, glows in the dark,
so it can be read underwater, or you can get one that floats.
It is scheduled to appear later this month in coordination
with her new show, Big Woe, the new Broadway Musical.
Have your say, as they say, but be sure to count your earnings.
Some might say it is too much to dare. When you wear earrings
and things from Tiffany’s, it gets harder and harder to ask for
sympathy. You might wind up like some of your devoted readers,
much too rich to notice a little girl in need of affection.
David Lohrey’s plays have been produced in Switzerland, Croatia, and
Lithuania. In the US, his poems can be found at the RavensPerch, New
Orleans Review, Nice Cage, and The Drunken Llama. Internationally, his
work appears in journals located in the UK, the Netherlands, India,
Malawi, and Hungary. His fiction can be seen at Dodging the Rain, Terror
House Magazine, and Literally Stories. David’s collection of poetry,
MACHIAVELLI’S BACKYARD, was published by Sudden Denouement Publishers.
He lives in Tokyo. You can read more of his writing at Writing, Musing, Poetry
Sudden Denouement started a little over three years ago with a vision of creating a platform for divergent voices. We have grown tremendously and have been gifted with amazing talent from around the world. We are now soliciting submissions for new writers. If you are interested, please send a sample of your work, along with a short bio. We are interested in those who write poetry, short fiction, or any form that lends itself to the format.