“Doubt truth to be a liar”*

ladysmockcrop

Part II (The first part can be found here.)

The scrap of paper browned and curled at the edges and a faint blue flame ringed the words “I don’t want starbursts and marble halls. I just want you.” Continue reading

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Kip Hofias

Between lovers a little confession is a dangerous thing. – Helen Rowland

“What kind of name is Kip Hofias,” Harry asked Vee, handing her the envelope noting the return address in Vancouver.

“A magician’s name.”

Vee held the letter at arm’s length pinched between her white knuckled thumb and index finger.

“I used to love his magic.” Continue reading

Can you please not do that?

The human in the white jacket, white socks, blue Bermuda shorts and pale blue shirt threw golden twigs into the water. Puffer the mermaid peeked around the limestone  rock poking up near the beach at Tobacco Bay and watched her friend William the parrotfish and Gillian the Wahoo snatch them from the surface. No blood, thank goodness but a ribbon of shiny stuff swirled like a swimming eel. Continue reading

Kenspeckle

I don’t want to be front and centre, Harry. You know how I feel.

Vee, your kenspeckle head is famous.

No one in Kootmacs knew Vee before the scalp fire except Harry. Infamous Vee, Lady Mexican Hairless, she thought. Bald as an egg.

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The hunt started. The grounds of Twist of Fate were a cat’s cradle of yarn threaded from trees to fence posts, scribbled through the bars of the fence, down the hill to the llama pen and back again. Wool rainbows hung from branches. Continue reading

Long and winding

I’m staring down at the old bag when she sticks out her hand for me to shake. Except it isn’t a real shake – she just offers me her fingers like she’s reaching to pat a dog.

Christ, her head is a mess. The old fart who brought me to the interview warned me. He said just focus on her pretty green eyes but I can’t help staring down at her. I’m 5’ 11”, everyone looks short to me. When she says she’s five foot three I hold the snort. Unless snootiness is measured in inches, I’m thinking – and there’s lots of that coming out of her Mexican Hairless-with-psoriasis scalp. Continue reading

Don’t sit under the apple tree

The ferry door clanged shut. Harry stood on the bow and let the wind dry his eyes as the vessel pushed away from the dock. Everything solid disappeared behind a wall of steel. Ahead he saw water fortified by saw-toothed mountains on the horizon.

“Lady, why did we have to come so far?” Continue reading

Dogged

Hope1Forest fires had crisped the mountains on the long drive across British Columbia. Ashes blessed the car as they drove through scorched hills quilled with trees that looked like blackened toothpicks. A funeral pyre of their former lives.

The town of Hope sprung up under sharp blue skies irrigated by a bustling river, so they stopped. Lawns were green and Douglas Firs tickled the clouds. They could have lived in Hope, but then they saw the dogs. Continue reading

The C-word

The table wobbled while Harry doodled. He shoved a folded piece of paper under the off-kilter leg but it refused his help. He saw no solution to their homeless situation. An amateur gardener gifted with hoes, and a poet who wrote about flowers was not likely to find work in a world run by Google gods and Zucker-burghers. Continue reading