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You are here: Home / Archives for Fiction

Fiction

Santa Date

By Alayna Seggi

The last child waits patiently in line for her turn to see Santa Claus.

“Ho, ho, ho! What’s your name little girl?” asked Kris in his best Santa voice. The words rang off the cardboard Christmas castle that towered above him. December was the height of the shopping season, and Santa’s Workshop in the Liberty Mall was the busiest it had ever been. Lucky for Kris, Santa’s Workshop closed at approximately 7:00 on Thursday evening, leaving him just enough time to get ready for his date.

“My name is Anna,” said the little girl.

“Anna, come sit on Santa’s lap. What would you like for Christmas?” She was the last child of his ten-hour shift. Kris’s velvety-red Santa Suit was soaked in sweat, the fake beard was itching and irritating his skin, and the plastic round Santa Claus glasses made impressions in his nose. Little Anna climbed up to sit on the edge of his knee before saying, “I’d like an American Girl doll.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve been very good this year. I’ll look for the perfect one. Take this Christmas mint and smile for the cam—!” The flash of the camera came before Kris could get the words out of his mouth. Poof, Poof!

“Okay, bye bye, Merry Christmas!” said Kris.

“Bye, Santa!” said Anna.

Little Anna ran past the velvet rope into her mother’s arms. Anna’s mother handed Bert the cameraman fifty dollars before mother and daughter walked hand-in-hand out of the Santa’s Workshop exhibit. As soon as they were out of eyesight, Bert slipped a five-dollar bill out of the stack and handed it to Kris. He was supposed to receive fifteen percent of all photo profits.

“Come on Bert,” said Kris.

Bert handed him some change without looking up. Kris glanced at the giant clock mounted on the wall right above the entrance to Santa’s Workshop—5:00 o’clock.

“Gotta go, I got a hot date!” said Kris.

Again, Bert neglected to look up from whatever he was doing that was so drastically important, but he did roll his eyes.

Kris had found Kat on Match.com, and the website deemed that they were perfect matches. He had decided to instant message her last week and ask if she wanted to go to a nice, classy restaurant, The Skunk and Goat Bistro. Long story short, they’d agreed to meet each other at 9:00.

Once Kris got home from work, he intended to go straight to the bathroom to freshen up. Unfortunately, his cat Morris had puked everywhere and he needed to clean that up at once. The puke incident left him very little time to get ready for his date and consequently, he did not get to shower or shave. However, he did attempt to style a nice comb-over, except it looked fairly messy, scraggly with various pieces sticking to the back of his head and all matted from his sweat. He sported a very dapper polo and a pair of blue jeans. Kris didn’t bother to tuck that in.

“Would you like another beer, sir?” asked the waiter who was wearing an ensemble complete with coat tails and white gloves. Kris had been waiting at the Skunk and Goat Bistro for twenty minutes at this point, anticipation making his fingers fiddle with his empty glass.

“Yes, and can I see the wine list? I’m sure my date will like some of that,” said Kris.

Suddenly, in walked Kat, who had short blonde hair and wore a strappy black dress and stilettos. Kris’s eyes lit up when he saw her, and he stood up when she approached.

“Hiiiiii,” said Kris as he walked around to pull out her chair. She sat daintily and he forcefully shoved her into the table. Even though he’d been at the restaurant for nearly a half hour by himself, he just now happened to take notice of the creamy white tablecloth.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” said Kris.

“What?” Kat mumbled before he grabbed the tablecloth and ripped it off the table, knocking everything over in the process. The glass clashed and shattered everywhere, the salads were now tossed, except they were all over the floor, and the silverware scattered.

“The flowers are still standing! Ha ha, well I was close. Gets me every time!” Kris laughed.

The waiter returned with Kris’s beer and the wine list. His super-duper customer service smile faded into an annoyed frown. Angrily, he tended to the mess.

“Would you like to move to another table, sir?” he asked Kris.

After glancing over at Kat’s concerned expression, Kris decided it would be best to move. Once again, he held out her chair and once again, he shoved her in there too tight. She gasped and pushed herself out so that she could breathe.

“Okayyyyy. Ha ha, um, tell me about yourself,” said Kat, attempting to brush off the scene that had just ensued.

“Uhhh, well, um, I dunno, like what?” asked Kris.

“Why don’t you tell me about your job? What do you do?”

“Uhhh, well, uhh, I work at the mall. I’m a Santa Claus, you know, like the ones that you think are the real Santa when you’re a kid.”

“Oh, that’s—nice. Is that like a part-time job or do you do that full time?” A glimmer of concern shivered across Kat’s face.

“Being Santa is a full-time job. But enough about me, what do you do?” he asked.

“I work at Highmark, I’m an insurance agent,” said Kat.

“Cool, I need some of that! Maybe I can buy some from you,” said Kris.

“Insurance is pretty important. If you would be interested, we can definitely talk about some policies. So um, what else are you interested in? I know we matched on Match.com, what else do we have in common?” There was a tone of desperation in Kat’s voice.

“I mean, we have lots in common! Uh, like, uh we are both American, from the US of A and we both live in Bay City. Oh, and we both have cats! My cat’s name is Morris. He comes around every once in a while, I think he’s doing all right. What about your cat?” asked Kris.

“I don’t have a cat, maybe you’re thinking that because my name is Kat, but it’s okay!”

“Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together! Mass hysteria!” He laughed until he realized that he’d slipped up on his “hot date.”

An awkward silence settled as they finished their drinks and stared at their hands, then looked around, pretending to notice something in the distance. Finally, Kris broke the silence. “Oh. Geez that was so embarrassing, I’m sorry.”

“No really, it’s okay! Not the first time.” She smiled.

“Well then, do you have any pets at least?”

“Um, yes, but I’d rather not say. It’s a big animal. He needs a lot of time and devotion but I love him. He’s a farm-type animal named Blitz.”

“Blitz! Do you watch football?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Wow, a woman who handles a farm, sells insurance, and watches football!” said Kris. His face was bright red again, and his palms got sweaty. “How many players are on the field?” he asked.

“Eleven.”

“Who is the Steelers QB?”

“Ben Roethlisberger.”

“Which team has played in both the AFC and the NFC Championship Games?”

“I believe it’s the Seahawks,” Kat answered. “What, did you not believe me?”

“No, well, it’s just—I get to talking about football and I get going so fast no one can understand me, especially women. They just don’t get it and here I am a-talking away and they act like they know until they’re put to the test!”

“But I understand completely. I was the water girl for my high school, I knew every play just in case they needed me.”

Kris rolled his eyes. “Oh, I believe you.”

“Anyways, you didn’t list that you liked football on your profile. I think it said that you like—meat?” said Kat.

“Oh yeah, I like meat. I’ve got a meat-of-the-month subscription. Bratwurst, ribs, pork, chicken, barbecue, you name it, I got it. Love meats,” said Kris. “Ha ha, and your butt is kinda like an about-to-explode bratwurst. Ha ha, God I love Bill Murray.”

“Oh, Bill Murray, those lines make so much more sense now!”

“Yes, I think I’d like another drink, do you want something?”

“Maybe another glass of Riesling, sure.”

At the bar, Kris ordered himself a shot of whiskey and decided to take two more before carrying back a glass for himself and the Riesling for Kat. By then, their food had arrived, and Kat had patiently waited for him.

A little tipsy, Kris slopped up his rare steak, almost drinking the blood dripping from it, mixing it with his garlic mashed potatoes and green beans. Soon a red paste had formed on his plate and he ate it happily like a pig in mud on a rainy day.

Kat, on the other hand, neatly cut her chicken marsala and sipped her wine, watching Kris become more and more intoxicated. Kris, eating at a speedy pace, began to choke on a rather large bite of steak that he’d neglected to cut.

Kris gagged and held his neck, pointing at his throat, foaming at the mouth, steak blood dripping down his chin and all over his dashing polo. He banged on the table, stood up, and even jumped up and down as if that would somehow dislodge the meat from his trachea.

“Kris? Kris, are you okay? Are you choking? Oh my gosh, do you want help?”

Kat jumped up immediately and wrapped her arms around his beer belly. She gave him the Heimlich, and on the fifth pump the steak was propelled into midair, hitting the passing waiter on the temple. The poor waiter stopped in his tracks, then kept on his way with a platter full of food in hand.

“Whyyyyy, phankssss! You—youss saved my liiiiiife!” said Kris.

“Yes, I did, all in a day’s work. You really should cut your food, though.” Kat wiped her hands and sat back down to finish her chicken and her glass of Riesling.

“I’m, I’mmm about ready to go, how about youuu?”

“Oh, I’m ready to go all right, but I don’t think you are. Do you think you can drive yourself home?”

“Sure I’m fine, I’ve driven in wayyy worse conditions. I’ll just pay for the check ha ha I mean pay for the dinnerrr, I mean— what do I mean? I will take the check.”

The waiter was watching from afar and almost sprinted over to place the check on the table. Kris delved deep into his pants pocket and came up empty. Bewildered, he checked his coat pockets and his shoes before realizing that he didn’t have his wallet. He wasn’t sure of its whereabouts, since he was almost certain that he’d had it in his pocket before he left, or was it when he left for work? Too drunk to be embarrassed, Kris said, “Kaaat, we have a problemo— I forgot my wallet and I dunno where it could beee ha ha.”

The waiter, at his wit’s end with Kris, turned very red. He towered over Kris, who was about ready to pass out. He whipped off his apron, threw it at Kris’s feet, and walked out in a huff.

Kat, with her coat already on, tore off her purse and extracted her wallet. She put down an Express card, flagged down a new waiter, and handed it to him— leaving a very generous tip. “Make sure that the other guy who waited on us gets half of that tip, honey. Kris, let’s roll. I’m taking you home, you’re in no state to drive. You can pick your car up in the morning.”

Kat and the new waiter dragged Kris out of the restaurant, through the parking lot, and into her car. It was a large white van, like those electrician company vans. They managed to get him in the back seat and buckled him in.

“Thanks, honey, have a good night!” said Kat to the young waiter.

Kat glanced at Kris in the rearview mirror, slumped and snoring. She turned on the radio, already preset to the Christmas channels. She started the engine and drove off into the wintry night, popping a peppermint into her mouth.

Kris came to about fifteen minutes later. Realizing he was in a vehicle, he opened his eyes and saw a strange and frightening scene, still a little blurry from the influence of whiskey. Candy canes hung from the ceiling, there were pine needles all over the floor, and all around the inside of the van were Santa figurines—  short Santas, fat Santas, skinny Santas, old Santas, young Santas, surfing Santas, football Santas.

But the creepiest of all was the “Santa Sighting” wall which was filled with hundreds of black-and-white photos of Santas from all over the world. Baghdad, Tokyo, L.A., and Paris, marked and dated exactly when they had been seen. Worst of all was when Kris caught sight of his own photograph on the wall at the Liberty Mall. Fear crept over him and he broke out into a cold sweat. Shivering, he looked into the driver’s seat. Kat was driving him away from the city.

“Oh hello, Kris, nice of you to wake up—and join us.” The Santa eyes all turned to peer at Kris.

Cowering, his fight-or-flight mode activated, he tried to pound on the sides of the van, to break the windows, anything to escape. Then Kris fainted from the shock, the fear, and the alcohol.

Kris woke up in his bed at home. Morris was lying on the floor.

“What a crazy dream,” he said. “It seemed so real. I thought I really didhave a date last night.”

“You did,” said Kat, dressed head-to-toe in elf garb. Kris was chained to his bed. There was no escape.

 

Alayna Seggi is from Erie, Pennsylvania and attended Fort LeBoeuf High School. She is majoring in English education and will graduate in the spring of 2021. She plans to attend graduate school and earn a degree in school counseling while simultaneously teaching. She played volleyball for three years, and in her sophomore season helped her team secure an AMCC championship and NCAA appearance. This is her first publication. She’d like to continue studying creative writing at some point as well. High Roller, War Zone, Working with Ameera

Filed Under: 2021 Issue, Fiction

Howling Wind

By Nicholas Metzger

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, even as they grew numb from striking the iron again and again. The frozen winds howled around us and whipped at our faces, stinging my eyes. Yet all I could think of was getting the fire started, which would mean the difference between freezing to death and survival for my brother and me. Another strike on the iron with the flint: this time a shower of sparks rained on the charcloth, yet still no ember.

I paused for a second before looking over to confirm that my brother, Mikel, was still in view in the near whiteout of the storm. He’d just finished working on the snow walls for protection and was now building the foundation of the fire. Several strikes on the iron later and all that I accomplished was breaking the flint.

“Do you need help with that?” Mikel questioned. He had finished the foundation much faster than I’d expected. Now he was just waiting for the fire to be lit.

“No, and before you ask, yes, I’m sure,” I said, attempting another strike. Still nothing.

“Well, you sure look like you could use some help. Your angle is off.” Mikel drew closer.

“Oh? And how should I be doing it?” I bit back. Mikel flinched.

I sighed. “Look I’m sorry, I’m a bit frustrated at the moment.” I gestured to the bird’s nest before I hit the iron again.

It might have been a bit prideful to turn him down, but it was my fault we’d gotten stuck  without a shelter. This is what I got for thinking that we could make it back to town before the storm hit. Now I had to take responsibility for my mistake and keep Mikel safe, just like I always had during the past six years.

I hit the iron again, this time harder and more uncontrollably than before, missing it completely, instead digging the sharp flint into my finger. The padded leather glove did little to protect my hand against the jagged edge. With a hiss, I dropped both the flint and iron to the packed snow and cradled my bleeding hand. I was careful not to touch the wound, since in these temperatures, touching it to anything or putting it in my mouth would only ensure that I’d lose it.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Otto, just give me the flint!” Mikel reached to pick up the discarded tool. As he picked up the iron and flint, he turned to me and said, “Are you all right? That looks pretty bad.”

“I’m fine, it’s just a nick— a bit of gauze and I’ll be fine.” I reached into the depths of my heavy, worn coat, pulling out some linen gauze kept warm and dry by my own body.

“Okay, but I’m starting the fire now,” Mikel said. He was much more successful with his strikes; every hit sent a cascade of sparks falling on the charcloth.

I couldn’t help feel a bit hurt at the turn of events as I faced away from Mikel, wrapping up my wound. I had spent six whole years looking after him, keeping him safe, but lately it seemed he didn’t need me as much, if at all. Shaking my head, trying to banish that last thought, I turned back to Mikel, who was cupping the bird’s nest to his face. It felt like my heart stopped for a moment. He had an ember. We had a fire!

This combined with the wind dying down meant we had very little to worry about now. It was in this moment I realized that it was Mikel who had done everything. He’d set up the foundation, built the snow walls, and lit the fire. All I’d done was sit around growing more and more frustrated at my inability to make an ember. Maybe it was time that I stopped trying to do everything for him.

The fire was larger now, having caught the bigger logs. As we huddled closer to the fire, there was a moment of peace between us. The howling winds with their icy claws had faded, and while the snowfall was still quite heavy, visibility was improving. Turning to Mikel, I said, “Next time, how about you start the fire.”

He chuckled. “Yes, that would be for the best, wouldn’t it?”

 

Nicholas Metzger is from York, in south-central Pennsylvania. He is currently majoring in accounting and management, and his main interests are camping, nature, and reading. He has mostly done writing for school projects since his dyslexia often gets in the way. Lately, he has been writing poems and short stories more regularly. Armor Behind the Glass, Water in the Glen

Filed Under: 2021 Issue, Fiction

Dinner Will Be Ready Soon

By Grace Heckman

Preface

Her mind wandered as she peeled the green skin from the round yellow flesh. The task was tedious, pulling strands of husks, watching the whitish-yellow hair amass itself on the kitchen table.

Seeing as she had some time on her hands, Mac began to tell herself a story. She chose her favorite one, which was the one that her parents always told after she had done something mischievous.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her ears.“You were born in the summertime and it was the closest thing to Hell I had ever experienced while on this Earth.” Papa thought it was befitting that she had been born during the hottest summer that he could recall. He claimed it was how she had developed her fiery spirit. She knew that the story had been dramatized to make it interesting. Who really wants to hear about all the boring details of their own birth story anyways? Her older brother, Jo, recalled that it had been really rather boring. Most of the time had been spent sitting around waiting. She could always rely on Jo to speak frankly.

Papa

A haze of smoke wandered through the air and occupied every unsuspecting nostril. He sat in a faded red chair with a cigarette cradled between his pointer and middle finger. It occupied that space like a sixth finger. He slowly pulled it up to his mouth and took a drag. The inhale, and then exhale, inhale and exhale. Monotonous and steady, like a beating heart that only stopped to adjust the paper in the opposite hand.

His eyes scanned the help-wanted ads in that morning’s paper. The plant was closing, and he knew that if he didn’t find a new job his family would fall on hard times.

“If only Jo were here,” Papa mumbled to himself, “he would know what to do.”

The pungent scent of freshly chopped onion started to overpower the rich aroma of his tobacco. He noticed the rumble in his stomach and wondered, when will dinner be ready?

Mama

Her hair was feathery, with streaks of grey running down it. The corners of her mouth wrinkled a bit from years of grit and determination. As the tears slid down her face, she gently brushed them away with the corner of her worn sleeve. Mama focused on the onion and only the onion.

“I really should have rinsed the damn things,” she remarked haughtily.

What she really meant was, “When is my baby coming home?”

Papa was starting to slow down, and she had her suspicions about the plant. The women at the grocery loved to gab, and lately all they seemed to talk about was the plant owner’s shady business. She couldn’t afford to think of such things. She still had a house to run and a daughter to raise.

Had the onion always been this strong?

It seemed that nowadays all Mama had to look forward to were the letters Joseph sent home every month. He was stationed somewhere in Europe. Thankfully he had stayed away from most of the action, for now. Such a sensitive soul. She worried the war would break his spirit. She knew Mac missed him terribly. They all did.

She had to hurry if she wanted to have food on the table within the hour.

Mac

The house was awfully quiet now. It seemed like just yesterday they were celebrating Jo’s coming of age and then the next day sent him on his way. He was her designated playmate from birth, her protector, her most trusted confidant.           

Slowly, she peeled her eyes from the pile of corpses long enough to catch a glance of Papa slumped in his chair. He was reading the morning paper even though it was nearly supper time. She studied the dark rings under his eyes. He woke up before the sun every morning.

She answered her own question. “No, I won’t bother Papa. He’s too tired to play with me.” She sighed.

Mac turned her attention to the kitchen where Mama’s slim shadow cascaded across the floor. The knife drummed against the cutting board methodically.

Mac just shrugged. “She won’t even notice me until dinner is done. I best leave her be.”

Evening meals seemed to be the only anchor that secured her family through this storm. Mac knew that she would always have this time with them.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” she assured herself as she skinned the last ear of corn

Filed Under: 2021 Issue, Fiction

High Roller

By Alayna Seggi

I grabbed a chunk of hair, smoothed it, clamped it into the curler, and wrapped and released the hair. Only a million more pieces to go. Ally had such thick, hazelnut hair that her appointments always lasted an hour and a half.

“Betty, I think you’re almost out of hairspray,” said Ally, sitting in the salon chair under the pink bubblegum cape in her cat-eye glasses. She was right. The bottle cracked and sizzled, desperately attempting to spray out the remaining drops.

“If you didn’t insist on this beehive updo near every week, then I wouldn’t be out!” God love Ally, but she really was the reason why I had to stock so much hairspray.

“I like to be vintage,” said Ally. “It works for me.”

Working on a regular customer one chair over, Daisy flipped on that hairdryer. It whirred and spurred above the noise of the radio, the gossip, and the fan. Sadly, we couldn’t afford no air conditioning. Growing up in a small town had taught me that there are no such things as secrets. Maybe that’s why I’ve decided to come back to an even smaller town. At least here I knew that people were telling the truth. As I continued the process of pinning and teasing Ally’s hair, I hummed along with the Four Seasons as my mind drifted back to a place that I never wanted to return to—Las Vegas

* * *

I was twenty-five years old, just trying to get lost from my down-home town in Oklahoma. I bought a one-way ticket to Vegas and didn’t never look back. The lights beamed from miles away, and when the bus pulled into town, I knew that this place was bigger than life. Caesar’s Palace, Riviera, Stardust, the Aladdin, and the Four Queens towered over my ant body, the heat from the lights burned my eyes, and the strip itself seemed to say to me, “I’m gonna eat you up.”

The moment I met Jimmy was when my life changed. He was handsome and rough around the edges. Deep brown eyes and slick midnight hair surrounded his charisma. Jimmy took me in when I had nowhere to go, not a chance at surviving this place. He taught me how to hustle and deceive men into giving me money. I learned about gambling and how to cheat in the big-league casinos. There were typical mechanics, handicappers, cappers, and colored-up players, but that’s how you get caught. A good hustler is always on the edge, and that’s how Jimmy taught me to be. I would cozy up to the fat politicians who were there without their wives and played the game.

Sometimes they just couldn’t stop drinking and those men were the easiest to steal from.

“Another cocktail, honey?” they’d ask me.

“Only if you’ll have one too!” I’d say, with a fake blood-red lipstick smile and batty eyelashes that I curled dark as night and long enough to brush my cheeks when I blinked.

Jimmy always said, “You gotta catch their attention. Stand out in the crowd, be the most beautiful woman there, and you’ll get the action because you’re likable.”

Velvet dresses, long curled hair, and towering stilettoes worked wonders. I started my shift at 11:00 PM and walked out of the casinos with a buzz and three million dollars by 6:00 AM. The Georges even tipped me for my generous hospitality, and I’d hand their share over to the valet as I left the building. We all worked together in this industry.

One night, I was working at Flamingo. The men were flirting and buying me strawberry daquiris, so I knew it was gonna be a big hit tonight. This one porky government man, what was his name?—I’ll just call him Mr. Piggybanks—was firing away and winning and going all in. I slipped him a pill, just like Jimmy taught me, and I claimed my winnings when he passed out in the men’s room. I paid up my partners and went on my way until Jimmy speedwalked up to me outside of the casino.

 “Where’s my money, huh? You owe me,” he said with liquor on his breath.

“I’ve already paid up, Jimmy, what more do you want from me?”

“No. You give it to me, or I’ll have you arrested, you good-for-nothing whore.” Jimmy’s words slurred.

I’m not sure what he was on, but he wasn’t right.

“Hey, over here! She’s smuggling money, she’s cheating, call in an eighty-six!” Jimmy screamed from the red carpet.

“What are you doing?” I recollected myself and painted on my signature smile, rows of white sparkling teeth to reassure the several stopped spectators. “Jimmy, dear, let’s be calm. I’ll talk to you at home.”

“No, we’re tal—”

I cut him off as I strode to the limo, pulled him in, and slammed the door. After he screamed, cussed, and swung once or twice, he finally passed out. I can’t believe I still went home with him. Not just to avoid prison, but because I wanted to be with him.

After the driver helped me carry his limp body inside, I was disgusted by the vast amount of powder all over the countertops, the bottles rolling along the hallway. The answering machine blinked so I hit it. A low, dry voice bellowed out of the speaker, “Hey, Jim. Tonight, there’s gonna be eyes in the sky at Flamingo. Be sure to point her out.” Beeeeeeep. Jimmy was still asleep. He made sure to hide the combination from me, but he taught me how to read cards and smuggle jewels from the rich gamblers. He thought I was stupid, but I cracked that safe and let the door swing out as I walked away with my things. 

Since that night, I haven’t been back to Vegas or talked to anyone there. As far as they know, I’m dead. I fled into the early morning, mascara streaming down my face and heels in hand. I took up a new identity, new name, new lifestyle, new hair dye. Dye, that’s right, I needed to order some more Fierce Red for the salon.

“Betty, look at those curls!” said Daisy.

“I love it, looks good every time,” said Ally.

I had finished Ally’s updo and her head filled with large curls. “You’re welcome sweetie,” I said.

I heard on the news that Jimmy overdosed or went to jail, but I couldn’t be sure. I stepped out for a cigarette, wrapping my jacket around me before the chill seeped into my soul.

 

Alayna Seggi is from Erie, Pennsylvania and attended Fort LeBoeuf High School. She is majoring in English education and will graduate in the spring of 2021. She plans to attend graduate school and earn a degree in school counseling while simultaneously teaching. She played volleyball for three years, and in her sophomore season helped her team secure an AMCC championship and NCAA appearance. This is her first publication. She’d like to continue studying creative writing at some point as well. Santa Date, War Zone, Working with Ameera

Filed Under: 2021 Issue, Fiction

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