Tom Moses

I hate hospitals, always have.  Everything about these places gets to me, but it’s a temporary discomfort.  Stepping out of the elevator into the recovery ward, the smell assaults my nose instantly.  There’s so much alcohol in the air my arm starts to ache as I pass the nurses station.

Frenchie’s room is just down this hall and I can already hear his voice.  I listen just outside the door as the French bastard lays it on thick to the woman in his room.  Even here, he’s pulling tail like I never could.

Asshole.

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A heavy handful of keys slid across the table, stopping against a stack of loose papers and binders. The rings held devices of brass and shiny aluminum reflected the ambient light for a brief moment until Jackson’s hand closed over them. Dave Abernacle — a stupid name, but he liked it well enough — stood at the end of the opposite end of the table.

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There it was, once upon a time, a young man of twenty years who sat bored in his second round of American Literature classes.  Almost nodding off to the monotone voice that rebound and echoed in his brain, just before the words of a graduate student sat in for the real instructor he paid tuition in order to listen to seeped out of his brain and were lost to the airwaves forever.  He heard the muffled sound of emo rock bands screaming about their god-awful lives in the ear-buds of the student behind him. read more »

Just as evolution takes it part to cleanse the earth of useless species, it can be said the same thing happens to societies.  Small towns will eventually give way to larger districts, small cities and eventually a sprawling metropolitan area will consume what had once been just a small frontier town on the basin of a river.  This is the same sort of story that happens to locales all over the country, but there are few cities quite like River City in the heart of America’s Midwest.  Snuggled in close to a large enough river, smugglers found it home almost two centuries before and until recently the criminal element decided to grow quietly, content with its place in the socio-economic system.  But just as evolution had it in for the dodo, it seemed too that River City was doomed to a life of lessening social grace every year.

Now Entering:  River City, home of the 1993 state champions, girls volleyball team.

Population:  1,203,559

Est. 1798

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His office would’ve been much more impressive if every stick of furniture hadn’t come from particle board put together at prison industries, the quality of work produced by felons was quite evident the moment Jules laid eyes on the wannabe mahogany desk. Though this behemoth of a man was certainly brave enough without suggesting that Jules come to see him without handcuffs on, but so many of these guys were like that, brave on the outside but cried themselves to sleep whenever something went horribly wrong. Jules sighed and took a seat, this guy was harmless, and helpless but there was probably little in the way of power he had over the institution other than making the inmates feel better about themselves so that they might push less grievances against the reformatory.

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Jules slid his feet over the polished tile floor, walking had proven difficult enough but really, why was there any hurry? The officer stuck closely behind him and Jules thought about how funny it was that no one else paid any attention to his presence. No stray glances, no gawking, not even an unkind phrase was good enough to acknowledge him. He kept on the straight path toward the elevators guided only by the officer’s occasional word: “Right” or “Left”.

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It is a starless night, not unlike many winter nights in this city. The clouds pass over the sky, keeping even the moon hidden from sight. Only the dirty yellow that emanates from the rusting posts that curve over the sidewalks provide any light of use.

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