Picking Targets

In combat, for him it was nothing more than picking targets. He’d look bored while hitting the bag, send a right hook to where his opponent’s head would be, then a left to the body, right elbow coming across that would erase consciousness if it hit a human head. It was the same with words. There was a time when he’d be excited to fight. … Continue reading Picking Targets

Spirals

I sat on the stairs while my father pinned my mother’s wrists to the bed to stop her from slapping him. He had a store-bought card for some anniversary that he “had had all along,” but she wasn’t buying it. I remember there was a dartboard he got because he smoked a certain number of cigarettes. In the aquarium downstairs there was a fish called … Continue reading Spirals