Lost Parable» Lost Parable by Laurence Vincent

Craggy Patch

admin — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 04:04:34 +0000

At night they met on the crag of Warren’s field, behind the patch of pine trees. Nick found the place. They drank beer there and tossed stones over the ledge into the sea; just the three of them under the moon. Christy often drank too much. She had a wild streak, too. When the humid summer came, she incited them to streak around the field. It wasn’t like Jen to do that, but she went along. And when the making out followed, she hated Christy for ruining it all–ruining the night under the moon in the naked air.

Scattered

admin — Sun, 25 Apr 2010 21:32:59 +0000

The kiss was so savage it made my lips bleed. An hour before she dumped me; for my own good, she said. I said nothing. I just walked. Left my car behind and walked home. And here she was, standing in my door, handing me keys, bitching at me for all the neighbors to see. I absolutely hated her when she grabbed my face and kissed me. Hated her. But I kissed her back. Things happened very fast then. So fast I’m not sure what happened next. Everyone will say it won’t last. They may be right. Maybe.

Songbird

admin — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 18:59:37 +0000

Thank you for your letter. I am doing well–much better than when I last saw you. I am married now. You don’t know him. He didn’t go to Rockport. I am glad to hear that you are “getting your life in order,” and I appreciate your apology. I am not sure how to respond. What happened to me was my mistake. Teenagers are stupid. Suicide is romantic. Wheelchairs are not. But I would be lying if I said I didn’t blame you. You joined the crowd and tried to strangle the strange bird because she sang.
I’m still singing.

Bitten

admin — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 04:26:50 +0000

She hardly cried when we found the dog lying in the cellar. He had been listless for days, but the vet could find nothing wrong. We should have known then. A week earlier, her friend Mary went into the hospital with severe anemia. Abigail didn’t want to visit her. She sat in her closet with her arms folded, sobbing. Since beating leukemia, my Abby has not been the same. She’s so pale. Something about her eyes. Transfusions, they say, can change a person. Until she bit me, I never realized how much.

Fortune

admin — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 01:21:13 +0000

We found the house off the road about a mile and a half; a rickety shack with a splintered swing on the porch and a cooler in the yard. The old man greeted us with a toothless smile and walked us into the parlor. After we paid her a quarter, the old lady played on the harmonica. Then she started shaking and her eyes rolled back. That’s when the bird flew in and pecked at her until it found a slip of paper in her ear: our prophesy. Damndest fortune teller I’ve ever seen.