How I Spent My Sunday
by Frank Dahai
When Debra said we should go to the drawing room I thought of a room where people went to draw. We played Operation in the middle of a vast floor, pulling plastic bones from a gutted cartoon with difficult tweezers. Every buzz sparked giggles. Discipline broke down quickly. We gave up on the game and ranged the room, pulling open drawers, rifling papers. I wrapped myself up in a heavy curtain and pretended to be dead. Debra smeared lipstick on the French crystal. We were hard at it when the door opened and her father was there, there, there—frozen in the frame, half-extracting a bone-yellow cigarette from open lips, looking for just one second like he might want to forgive.
Frank's work has appeared or is forthcoming in SmokeLong Quarterly, Flashquake, Monkeybicycle, Pequin, Pank, The Linnet's Wings, The Legendary, Grey Sparrow Press and Toasted Cheese, among others. http://www.frankdahai.blogspot.com/