through the street like a small earthquake, and Alice wondered if there was a thunderstorm coming.
She looked again at her vehicle a block away. Alice halted, eyeing the distance incredulously. She had gotten no closer to the car than she had been five minutes earlier. How could that be? She looked at the building next to her realizing that it was different than the one she had started from. The buildings appeared to be closing in on her.
“ Allliiiccceee, we’ve been waiting .”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She sensed she was being watched, refusing to open her eyes lest her imagination become a reality. After a while, she finally found the courage to open them, relieved to find no one waiting around to eat her brains. She looked at the building next to her again, and it seemed as if she were closer to it than before. Again, she glanced over her shoulders and it still seemed like the buildings were consuming her space. She closed her eyes again. A warm breath hit her neck and she cringed.
Forcing herself to face her fears, Alice opened her eyes to see that the buildings were bending over her in a surreal death gaze. She watched as they leaned closer down to her with their fiercely red malevolent eyes. The building next to her opened up its doors and swallowed her whole.
Once again, the neighborhood had found peace.
Lori Michelle was born in Los Angeles where she was trained to be a ballerina. After injuring herself, she turned her creative efforts elsewhere. Now she resides in San Antonio and is the mother of two, a bookkeeper/IT tech for a real estate company, a dance studio owner, and a graphic designer (www.lmbgraphics.com).
THE UNWRAPPING
CARRIE ANNE MARTIN
Moments of the past, once exquisitely captured on camera . . . fading. Lies, vanishing.
Part of my brain had begun to throb, gaining momentum with every stark flashback. I hugged my glass of wine as I had once clung to the comfort of my covers against the dark shadows of night.
Under the dimmed chandelier, the empty wine decanter glistened between us. She sat across from me at the dining table; her head tilted sideways, feigning sympathy behind pale green eyes. With arms stretched stiffly forward, she clasped her glass like a sword, deflecting the perilous memories I dared to reveal.
“I don’t remember that,” she replied, robotically.
Still I continued, unwrapping the past between us.
Behind the stillness, her face worked ardently to mask her empty soul. “Let it out. You let it out,” she said.
So I did.
Suddenly, I was small again. Alone in our family livingroom. With her.
I sat motionless on the chair, staring into the morphing colours of the TV screen. Willing myself to join them. But no matter how still or quiet I remained, her icy silence grew thick.
Fear had rooted me to the cushions. I edged my head to one side to glimpse her form, undetected. An invisible fist tightened around my heart. Her hunger, her evil, enveloped me.
Her arms were folded tightly, one leg crossed over the other, staring through the TV. Mentally fixated on her prey. As if only to enjoy the suffering. And in that naive fear, I implored of her, “Mom?”
Her eyes hardened in smug hatred.
“What?” she snapped.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
She turned toward me. “Nothing,” she said.
Lost between then and now, the unspoken truth fell from my lips, “I want my mommy.”
I should have stopped then.
“Don’t,” she said.
She shook her head and repeated, “Don’t.”
But it was too late.
And I saw with adult eyes the beast, and nothing of the mother.
She seethed with revulsion. Her body stretched and popped grotesquely. Then she pushed her clawed hands against the table and stretched upward.
“I should have killed you when you were born,” she hissed, slithering her fur-clumped body along the wood. Saliva spat from a jaw-full of spiky teeth protruding from her face. “You were needy and pathetic. So trusting. So loyal.
She looked again at her vehicle a block away. Alice halted, eyeing the distance incredulously. She had gotten no closer to the car than she had been five minutes earlier. How could that be? She looked at the building next to her realizing that it was different than the one she had started from. The buildings appeared to be closing in on her.
“ Allliiiccceee, we’ve been waiting .”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She sensed she was being watched, refusing to open her eyes lest her imagination become a reality. After a while, she finally found the courage to open them, relieved to find no one waiting around to eat her brains. She looked at the building next to her again, and it seemed as if she were closer to it than before. Again, she glanced over her shoulders and it still seemed like the buildings were consuming her space. She closed her eyes again. A warm breath hit her neck and she cringed.
Forcing herself to face her fears, Alice opened her eyes to see that the buildings were bending over her in a surreal death gaze. She watched as they leaned closer down to her with their fiercely red malevolent eyes. The building next to her opened up its doors and swallowed her whole.
Once again, the neighborhood had found peace.
Lori Michelle was born in Los Angeles where she was trained to be a ballerina. After injuring herself, she turned her creative efforts elsewhere. Now she resides in San Antonio and is the mother of two, a bookkeeper/IT tech for a real estate company, a dance studio owner, and a graphic designer (www.lmbgraphics.com).
THE UNWRAPPING
CARRIE ANNE MARTIN
Moments of the past, once exquisitely captured on camera . . . fading. Lies, vanishing.
Part of my brain had begun to throb, gaining momentum with every stark flashback. I hugged my glass of wine as I had once clung to the comfort of my covers against the dark shadows of night.
Under the dimmed chandelier, the empty wine decanter glistened between us. She sat across from me at the dining table; her head tilted sideways, feigning sympathy behind pale green eyes. With arms stretched stiffly forward, she clasped her glass like a sword, deflecting the perilous memories I dared to reveal.
“I don’t remember that,” she replied, robotically.
Still I continued, unwrapping the past between us.
Behind the stillness, her face worked ardently to mask her empty soul. “Let it out. You let it out,” she said.
So I did.
Suddenly, I was small again. Alone in our family livingroom. With her.
I sat motionless on the chair, staring into the morphing colours of the TV screen. Willing myself to join them. But no matter how still or quiet I remained, her icy silence grew thick.
Fear had rooted me to the cushions. I edged my head to one side to glimpse her form, undetected. An invisible fist tightened around my heart. Her hunger, her evil, enveloped me.
Her arms were folded tightly, one leg crossed over the other, staring through the TV. Mentally fixated on her prey. As if only to enjoy the suffering. And in that naive fear, I implored of her, “Mom?”
Her eyes hardened in smug hatred.
“What?” she snapped.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
She turned toward me. “Nothing,” she said.
Lost between then and now, the unspoken truth fell from my lips, “I want my mommy.”
I should have stopped then.
“Don’t,” she said.
She shook her head and repeated, “Don’t.”
But it was too late.
And I saw with adult eyes the beast, and nothing of the mother.
She seethed with revulsion. Her body stretched and popped grotesquely. Then she pushed her clawed hands against the table and stretched upward.
“I should have killed you when you were born,” she hissed, slithering her fur-clumped body along the wood. Saliva spat from a jaw-full of spiky teeth protruding from her face. “You were needy and pathetic. So trusting. So loyal.
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