Walking the Corridor

 Festival Night     I walked among the festivalgoers, raucous and clad in myriad costumes.  All the celebrants wore black garments making their bodies seem fluid and boneless in the long shadows cast by the weak light of leaning street lamps. The coppery smell of cooking organ meat filled the air, the sulphuric smoke from assorted vendors' trailers polluting the night sky. I could not discern what festival the people were celebrating. The elements I could understand combined the aesthetic of Halloween with the mood of Mardi Gras, creating a fusion that was altogether Bacchanalian. A sexual tension charged the parking lot where they had gathered, with drunken groups of two, three, and four, amalgamating into seething clusters of sloppy kisses and aggressive groping. Those who were not fornicating sat along the edge of the pavement on a long uninterrupted curb that stretched on into nothingness, their mouths agape and drooling as they laughed and leered in manic deligh...

Season’s  Greetings   J.M. Rogers Mac ran an appraising hand over a red gift topped with a glittering, green bow. The wrapping paper was thick and smooth, dyed a deep maroon that was more blood than holly. It crinkled softly beneath his fingers. Under the warm light of the fire, the paper revealed no seams. He had seen such a trick before, but it had been many years ago. A trace of a smile worked at the corner of his mouth and quickly faded.  Gently, he turned the gift over, inspecting every side, but found no tape fastened nor any tuck or fold of paper. The only imperfection was an illegible name scrawled across the top. Mac lifted his eyes and stared longingly at the evergreen that towered over him. Finely crafted ornaments of silver and gold dangled from every branch, and crystal teardrops spun on invisible strings projecting sparkling shards along darkened walls.  Mac returned the gift to its place atop an impeccably stacked tower of presents and glanced ...