First published, Issue 2, Fall 2009
Tw0 Stories by Iris Macor
The Dead
Amanda dances with the dead. She has hollow eyes that see too far and shoulders that are strong for her small frame. It's from the digging.
They are glad when she sets them free. They sigh relief, wrap their rotting arms around her and kiss her cheek. It's a lot of work, but it's worth it. The dead throw the best parties. If only they would help her clean up after. She's sure to pat the last clump of soil down before sunrise, then she goes home and sleeps like the…well, you know.
If it’s All the Same to You
If it’s all the same to you, I’ll forgo the expensive gifts-- the diamond bracelet, the heart-shaped pendant. We know that you can’t buy love. We tried it before. The couch isn’t any more comfortable than it was then, nor is a half-empty bed more comforting. Forget about flowers, too soon dead. They would only remind us of what we don’t say, when the petals wilt and the stems stand erect, naked, lonely. Instead we'll have another night of silence, because I know that's just what you want.
Copyright © Iris Macor 2009.