November 2008
Something to Do With Sebastian by Douglas Lind
A Rainy Night of Density with a Reckless Neurotic by Richey Piiparinen
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DEADLINES: AN ANTHOLOGY OF HORROR AND DARK FICTION, will be released in November of 2008! Visit www.cometpress.us
Gold Dust Revenge
by C.A. Cole
C.A. Cole lives in Fort Collins and has had stories published in VerbSap and Bewildering Stories.
Here he was, at seventy, a half century since he'd been in love, turning the square envelope with writing he knew wasn’t hers over and over in his hand. The handwriting, long and slanted, looked Arabic, not English. Years ago, a strange envelope or two had dropped through his mail slot. He’d trampled on the first before picking it up. The second he’d trashed without opening. What was the point? She lived six states distant and wanted him to think about a life he’d buried.
That long gone girl hadn’t spoken to him since they were in their twenties, but a friend gave him a copy of a novel she’d written. He’d skipped to the sex parts but he wasn’t the lover, and even though he was sure he was mentioned, somewhere, every time he cracked the spine, he fell asleep. His friend hadn’t been much help. “Hell if I know if you’re in there,” he’d said. “I couldn’t get past the second page.”
Usually he let garbage pile up until his daughter stopped over and recycled the mess. He ate on top of junk mail and spit sunflower seeds on Taco Palace coupons. Once, a runny egg plopped off his plate onto a burial insurance offer.
When he leaned the unopened envelope against a beer can on Saturday night, a ridge formed along the bottom. He held it upside down. Something shifted as if it were filled with gold dust. Days before, he’d called his daughter to buy some chocolates. She’d argued, said he’d rot his teeth worse than they were, and here it was Sunday morning and she hadn’t shown.
The letter hadn't disappeared, either. He didn’t dare take the elevator to dump the garbage, with the letter, himself. Some of the building’s old ladies would be hovering, scheming ways to get at his scrawny neck. Even unshaven, the biddies were after his body. He didn't want a summons to one of their airless apartments. Bones brittle and skin wrinkled, they usually couldn’t make it, leaving him unfulfilled and, he hated to admit, bored. He wouldn’t risk the stairs; with flesh hidden behind their church skirts, he might forget and imagine them attractive underneath.
He considered burning the letter, but as miserly as he was, he figured he'd check what it contained first. Couldn’t hurt. Might be a snort of coke. After pouring coffee, he slit the top open with a ketchup-crusted kitchen blade.
A white card, embossed with a rose, was inserted, the opening at the top. Grayish flakes snowed out as he righted the missive. I’m sending back my charred heart was printed inside in a script he did recognize. She hadn’t signed it. He rubbed her stray remains into his threadbare jeans as if it were ash from his cigarette.
Gold Dust Revenge is copyrighted 2007 by C.A. Cole and may not be reproduced under any circumstances without the author's permission.