Refracted Neurons

Photo by Manel Torralba “That’s the wrong way to do that,” Grimmett put his hand over Jade’s, then drew it back, “Are you wearing gloves?”  The other students didn’t look up from their workbenches, but their movements seemed to slow as they eavesdropped. Glass work was too dicey to stop, one hesitation and hours of work could shatter. Jade looked at the malformed bead on her mandrel. She, on the other hand, had nothing to lose. Setting the mandrel on the graphite benchtop, she slid her hands out of the gloves, “I really don’t want to get burned.”  “If you let your fear dictate what you do as a lampworker, you will never improve,” Grimmett raised his voice so the whole class could hear over the hiss of their torches. “If you continue to work in glass, you will at some point get burned,” he pulled down on the neck of his shirt, exposing the top of a scar, a patch of skin melted and discolored by heat.  Ignoring him, Jade rapped her mandrel on the benchtop ...

Yellow jacket makes them sound like the gentlemen of wasps, as if they buzz around in little top hats, waving miniature canes.  These wasps are no gentlemen. Honestly, we've had them around our yard for years.  We have flowers blooming from spring until fall, and with that comes bees, butterflies, and hummingbirds.  They usually buzz us when we're eating outside, completely unaffected by the citronella candle. A butterfly on our hydrangea tree Then I stepped in their nest.  I was trying to trim a blackberry bush that was growing in an ever-expanding patch of Saint John's Wort.  I hate doing this because I can't see where I'm putting my feet, and in this case, one of my legs went straight down into a hole. "That's weird," I said, pulling my leg out. "What's weird?" asked my son.  He and his sister were supposed to be playing in the backyard, but for some reason watching me do yard work was more exciting.  It was about to ge...

Image by  congerdesign  from  Pixabay Dearthart Justice was in the kitchen, scapular smeared with flour.   “Hot in here,” Dearthart Eden pulled lir tunic away from lir chest. “You don’t have to be in here,” Justice worked the rolling pin, muscles bunching in lir arms. “Yes, but I wanted to talk to you about something that has been troubling me,” Eden leaned against the wooden counter. “Oh, not you too,” Justice swiped a sleeve across lir forehead, leaving a streak of white, “If one more person leaves the Deharthood to marry, I shall be forced to use miniature bread pans.” Eden laughed, “No, it’s not that.  It all started with my desk. You know how it faces the window?  I get so distracted watching the squirrels swirl around the tree like dancers, or sometimes there’d be a bird with a twig in its mouth . . .” “Not to mention that fool of a Dearthart that always waves at you from the path,” Justice eased the rectangle of d...

Images from Pixabay “I didn’t invite you here to ask for your help,” Kim lied, “It’s been a while since we’ve got together.” Blush streaked across Richard’s cheeks, down to the collar of his uniform, “Aren’t you married?” “Was,” she slid a hand into his lap. Richard yanked on the collar of his ballistic vest, the Velcro shricking its way open, ”I’m really sorry about your cousin, but I’m just a patrol officer.  We don't have access to homicide files.” ”She isn't - wasn’t my cousin.  She was my cousin’s wife.  She had a name, ” Kim took her hand away, dug in her purse.  ”Here,” she put the picture in front of him, ”Her name was Sol.” ”Your cousin’s wife?  And you have how many cousins with how many spouses?” Richard folded his arms, the muscles bunching underneath his sleeves. Kim slid the 8x10 off the bed, careful to touch only the edges, “Forget I said anything.  I mean, who cares if two of my cousins died in the past year.” “I thought ...

Picture taken by Patrick Denker, Source:  https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Roma-ponterotto01.jpg Sara spotted them next to the Ponte Rotto, two dark spots against the sheen of the Tiber.  “I wish people wouldn’t dump their trash in the wa - “ Lieto, her retriever mix yanked the leash from her hand.  He entered the water with a clumsy glee, leash trailing him like a balloon’s string.  “Bad puppy!” Sara called after him, “Lieto, come!” Ignoring her, the dog paddled out to the debris.  It wasn’t until Lieto turned towards her, a scrap of cloth in his mouth, that Sara realized it wasn’t trash.  “Is that a baby?”  The closer Lieto drew to the stone walkway, the more Sara was certain.  It was an infant, swaddled in white cloth.  Sara’s mouth ran dry with dread.  There was no way that the baby was alive, it was too still, eyes closed, lips parted, hands unclenched.  Sara flinched as Lieto sent a spray of water in her dir...

I’ve been perpetually annoyed by the lack of sidewalks by the Northgate Executive Centers.  There is no place to walk except through the parking lot.  I’m not even really sure what an Executive Center is, except that it makes me think of men in crisp shirts with ties so tight, they are like sateen nooses; and women in power suits and heels, their hair coiffed into something so stiff, it's more helmet than hair. But that's another story entirely.  The point is (if I have one) that my doctor’s office is at the end of this cul-de-sac.  Today as I was mentally grumbling about the lack of sidewalks, I happened upon this: For a moment I thought it was a prosthetic, then I saw the post.  It’s a mannequin hand!    The Executive Center snuggles up to one of the oldest malls in North America: Northgate (or Orthgat as the sign read at one point) Mall.  This mall has struggled about as much as any, but not spectacularly.  That was anyway, unti...

In front of her was a river, frothy white with rapids, and a wooden boat, oars still engaged in the oarlocks. “There must be a mistake,” Latona looked up at the achingly blue sky.  The last thing she could remember was the screeching of metal as her car crumpled around her.  Fabric or paper twirled in the air like confetti.  Then pain. She was dead, she was definitely one-hundred percent dead, and there was truly a man wearing only a loincloth standing in front of her.  She pinched herself, but it didn’t hurt.  She was dead after all. “I am Phelegas, ferryman of the dead.  You must pay your fare to pass into Hades,” he held out a pale hand. “Where’s the white tunnel?  And Hades?  Like hell?  I must have really messed up,” Latona tried to look only at the man’s face.  He was nearly naked, and far too old for her taste. “Hades is the Greek afterworld.  Your name is Latona, the hidden one, daughter of Coeus and Phoebe, si...