Refracted Neurons

Eunice didn’t mean to stir up a kerfuffle, at least that’s what she always maintained, but things had gotten boring around the senior center and she herself was bitter.  “Muriel and Marge’s children have taken them home,” she complained through the paper mask, “They are out there going to Safeway on Tuesdays and Muriel even went to bunco!” “Now Mom,” George put a gloved hand on the shoulder of her sweater set, “they don’t have small children at home.  You know how kids pass things around.” “If you’re not going to take me home, at least get them to restore my shopping day.  They don’t buy the right type of cookies no matter how many times I ask.” “Mom, it’s a quarantine.  They’re trying to protect you,” George’s mask couldn’t hide his exasperation, “Anyway, you like it here.  You like the crafts . . .” “They have been canceled.” “You like the cafeteria . . .” “They’re making us eat in our room.” “Being around other people your own age . . . “ “They told us to stay at le

It was strange, but she didn’t care anymore.  Tracy had pushed her too far and instead of feeling immense sadness, she felt nothing.  It didn’t matter that she had to see him every day, it didn’t matter that he was happy without her, it didn’t - Vera stared at her box of staples in horror.  Now here was something that really mattered.  Instead of the long, uniform rows of staples she expected, they were broken, jumbled, and largely useless.  She held the box over the trash can, then changed her mind at the last moment. “Where are you going, Vera?” Tracy asked as she walked by his office. “Just paying it forward,” Vera held up the box of staples.  Reaching Lynn's office, she cracked the door cautiously.  Looking behind her, she jumped, “God, Tracy, could you not move so quietly?” “Next time I’ll cough like this, ‘eh-heh,’” Tracy faked a cough into the crook of his elbow. Vera slipped into Lynn's office, sliding the top drawer of his desk open.  She froze for a moment, e

We set our clocks ahead thinking it mattered, not thinking, time is a deck of cards swirling down an escalator, churning face down at the bottom. The streets roll into emptiness, not from leaving but stuck fast with staying, and staying, and I hurry as if I can run ahead, as if I might be the one to flip face up, to miss the fall, to float suspended the city frozen beneath me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I was in the bus tunnel yesterday charging up my Orca card, and playing cards were sprinkled all over the place like someone had been shuffling while escalating.  Not as dangerous as shuffling while elevating, but still.  If you're gonna shuffle, do it while sitting at a table or at least while standing still. The city is pretty empty at this point, and even people like me who are just going to work and back are rare.  It's eerie, but it also made me think about all the empty places in the city and which one I would most like to wander through.  The

So I know a lot of y'all (like us) are stuck in social isolation, so I'm gonna try to up my post frequency, at least temporarily.   Here's a non-starter, something I attempted as a short story that just didn't fly.  It's also a potential beginning and/or scene from a sequel to Murder in a Box and Pitter, Patter, Murder. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sandrine was surprised to find Melanie Whittle at her parents’ front door.  She watched her adjust her suit lapels on the security camera, then hit the intercom button.  “Yes?” Sandrine slurred. “I’m looking for Sandrine Runds,” Melanie’s grey eyes swept the eaves until she spotted the camera, “Is she home?” Sandrine ducked as if Melanie could see her through the screen.  “Do you know she’s wanted in Canada for fraud?” “Everyone in Cobblestone Keep knows that.  Sandrine, is that you?” “Maybe, depends on what you want.” “I need your help.” Sandrine cleared her throat, “Maybe you didn’t hear