Weird Shorts | Page 4

stay on the floor, as the curtain is too long for its current location. Ronny and Micah continue talking about their recent performance and the curtain raises with a snap!
It falls with an accordion run and smoke implodes with the fall of the curtain. In an instant, there are many people and they are boisterously speaking French, smoking with ornate cigarette holders and laughing entirely too hard. "Popo?." A man requests the attention of another and the curtain raises as quickly as it had fallen.
Again, it falls to the earth and a man is dying in the desert. His khaki outfit is torn, dirty and thin. All he wants is a drop of water and all he gets is a random picture show, centering around a curtain.
THE BUTTAHFLY GUILD
The year is 2006 and it's seven thirty in the a.m. at 111 Fine Pines Lane. Ms. Mamie is in the living room, with the front door open and sun rays displayed in a geometric pattern on an unkempt hardwood floor. There seems to be a baby in her arms.
"Well, they was Margaret Jo, Mary Jean, Tranelle and Margretta. Each of them girls was a member of the club. 'Course now, we lost Mary Jean 'bout a week ago." Pausing. "It was ve'y unfortunate how sh' wuh playin' so close to a street like that. Umm mmmm," shaking her head. "Po thang neve' did seen it comin' like that! No, she sure didn't." In a sing-song voice, "No she didn't. No she didn't."
Ms. Mamie giggles with joy as she perceives a cooing baby.
Squinting, Ms. Mamie looks away from the door, places an empty, dirty coffee mug on an old, scratched end table, continues with her tale and starts with a smirk and a scratch to the back of the head.
"Now, in the beginning, they was only three of them girls. Ummm hmmmmmm. They was three girls and it started out as jes' somethin' that kep' them girls bus-y. Pujibity. They ca'd theyselves, "The Buttahfly Guild," Looking away, "Sho was. Ummm hmmmm." Her tempo accelerates, "M.J., Tranelle and Ma'y Jean was the only members in tha beginning. Ugh huh. And they was all the same age. School had n'er start yet and they was bored, so they.." Ms. Mamie's left hand cramps into an arthritic ball and she loses thought. "...school h'aint started yet, so they needed 'em sum'in to do with they selves, so they started this hur club. It kept 'em busy fuh a couple a years, it did. Foshing..." The other hand cramps up and a dusty blanket falls to the hardwood. The pain was excruciating. There's no denial, memory, healing, companionship or love in a dusty blanket, whose stains are more obvious under the scrutiny of an unrelenting morning sun.
Chapter 4.
Short Stories by Katie Maud Stephan
I am so grateful that Katie Maud Stephan has agreed to do this book with me. I only wish that I could appreciate other writers of this genre as much as I appreciate her! Truly, she is in a class by herself.
All strange and terrible events are welcome, but comforts we despise.
Cleopatra
COMING TO TERMS
So now she had to deal with the reality of the situation.
Ever since his arrest, Caren had been in an admitted state of denial. It was simply impossible that anyone in her family was capable of what he had been arrested for, convicted of, now to be slain for.
What did his deeds say about her? As his sister, was she subject to the same proclivities?
Compulsively she scoured her memories for even a single instance that foreshadowed this nightmare, but she came up empty.
More heartlessly, she scrutinized her own childhood cruelties and jealousies, every mean thought, each lost friendship; all for naught. No sudden insights rocked her, no hidden desires bubbled up, no sublimated hatreds overwhelmed her -- only the blighted loneliness of an unpopular student, a neglected daughter.
Still, what was normal for a child? Did every kid become as angry as she had over stupid arguments, slights, unkind acts? Was her anger irrational, overwrought, or, worse yet, cold?
She questioned her motives in pursuing a law degree and fighting for a job in the DA's office. Was she running from pernicious inclinations, combating the evil in herself by attacking it in others? Had she savored kindred feelings as she poured over the case files of vicious killers, those so like her brother? Was the thrill she'd felt titillation disguised as horror, or was it true abhorrence? No answers, no answers.
Now her adored brother was in the last hours of his deathwatch, only a few more moments before the guards would say she must leave, abandon him to his fate. Caren felt unable to even look at him but knew she must do what she could to prevent further harm, further ruin.
"You never