Hunt & Peck Publishing
101 Avenue of Avenues
New York, NY 10001
September 8, 2015
Paige Turner
2 Common Place
Crimea River, NJ 08080
Dear Ms. Turner,
Thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, it does not meet our present requirements. We wish you luck with other publishers.
I am born.
Bright lights. Concerned faces.
“Look, at the eye! Doctor? The right eye is crossed.”
“Don’t worry. In laymen’s terms it’s called a lazy eye. The weakened muscle can be corrected.”
“What a shame! Such a pretty blue.”
I’m blue.
Picture this.
Friend A is from Poland. You met when he briefly studied in your university. He has blond hair, too long to be due to negligence, too short to be tied back. He is relaxed and has a kind of vulnerability to him that he is happy to expose. This makes him extremely easy to be around. You are always quick to let your guard down around him, and that has been the basis of your friendship.
On our anniversary weekend
you decide to detour
by the house of an ex-fiancée
who determined years ago
that apart was best, an assessment
you dittoed, so the story goes.
CLICK.
A mid-morning light splinters through the blinds, illuminating the now familiar wrinkles on the backs of your hands. You caress your short, unpainted nails and remember long pinks and reds. A cut-glass vase of tulips shed yellow petals at your feet. You move them in slow circles with the tip of your toe like constellations.
“Seven letter word. Trace or remnant.”
To Harry Furniss, working for a corporation felt like wearing a clown suit: a façade that made it easy to avoid taking anything seriously. After all, working for a global brand lubricates some people’s social lives better than a bottle of Scotch. Turn up at some hotel bar, and before long a slightly heavy nonentity in middle-manager casuals (polo shirt, belted chinos worn above the navel) will ask what business you’re in. After comparing your burdens, from regulation to office politics, you’ll stagger back to your room with a card in your pocket, plus an invitation to visit him and his wife next time you’re in Pensacola. Or Reykjavik. Or wherever.
Though the modern generation is more sensitive to cultural appropriation and its negative implications, one minority still finds themselves a major victim to this theft of customs and styles. Vampires.
Since the days of Bram Stoker’s classic fabrication of the undead, vampires have been portrayed only as mortals saw them, not as they truly are. Though they were unflatteringly represented, vampires were happy not to have the spotlight cast of their culture. Until the Goths came along with their blatant misappropriations.
It transports oxygen and nutrients to cells which are suspended in a liquid matrix. This is called plasma. It is leaking down my legs. I feel it soaking into my socks. Red blood cells contain haemoglobin, a protein with red pigment that carries oxygen. Oxygenated or not, your blood is always red. You cannot pretend the liquid dripping down your thighs is unseen.
She got into my rented car
And it felt the same.
It felt like the first time she ever sat beside me
As I put the car into drive.
We kissed before we got into the car
And held each other close.
Idle Ink 