<\/p>\n
The streets feel raw, washed over by depressed gray; the homes look bitter, hopeless. I hear the groans of tired voices, as emotionless faces look on from their porches. They look like something you\u2019d see out of a Soviet gulag. I keep walking. The silence is filled by the sounds of creaking floorboards and washed out air conditioners. Sidewalks are heavy, dampened by last night’s rain. I take a deep breath, but smells of musty carpeting and moldy vinyl clog the air. This is a place of horror\u2013 it wasn\u2019t always. I skim the streets before getting tripped up. I glance back to find a vintage Venti\u00e8r lace up shoe from the 1860\u2019s. It\u2019s been through a lot, it seems, with cracks lining the lifeless leather as if it\u2019s been decaying for years. Beside it stands an overflowing shoe-can; crusty, waterlogged shoes smashed in tight fill the can to its brim just like all the other cans along the road. That\u2019s what happens when the garbage men stop picking up the shoes. They stopped working after the galosh shortage, just as everyone else did. I continue down the road.<\/span><\/p>\n The lifeless people continue to stare. I feel their disdaining gazes burn my skin; they can tell I still have a job, can\u2019t they? Sections of the town are concentrated with the homeless, looking too depleted to be resentful. Millions were fired after the shortage. Without galoshes, rainy days meant you couldn\u2019t get to work\u2026it rains a lot in Lindsham. Most left for drier climates a while ago, but I\u2019ve been lucky enough to have a job where I could work from home. I work for \u201cWesco Cinema\u201d as a middle-level Sifter. We receive at least a hundred script proposals a day; it\u2019s my division\u2019s job to winnow down the list before sending \u2018em off to the high-level Sifters. The latest movie proposals have mostly been aspersions on the wealthy. I\u2019m careful to let a few through\u2013otherwise my associates will become suspicious. I see a vendor up ahead; he\u2019s selling plastic bags as makeshift galoshes\u2013one hundred Yermen a bag; that\u2019s bloody expensive, but it\u2019s the cheapest in town. I\u2019m surprised he hasn\u2019t been robbed and shot like the rest of them.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The last man seen with galoshes in Lindsham didn\u2019t enjoy a happy ending. His name was Gatsmen and he was a good man. The policeman said his face was smashed in like a jacked up car with his guts turned inside out; he said it was an entire group of people who killed him. Of course, the cop himself had bloodied knuckles, so he probably enjoyed beating Gatsmen just as much as the others did. The rest came forward the next day\u2013three of Gatsmen’s neighbors and four random men off the street. I recognized most of them from church. They were proud of what they had done and so was the town. I remember seeing his body on the street shortly after the killing; they never even gave him the dignity of cleaning him up. His blood swam in the rain like a twisted cocktail with his left foot dangled off by the thread of a tendon. He was still wearing his Galoshes. They didn\u2019t even care to take \u2018em\u2013 just as long as no one could enjoy them; damn fool for walking out with them on! He should\u2019ve known better. A few days later his wife killed herself along with her daughter, nine year old Ella. Her protective older brother Adam wasn\u2019t home when it happened; \u2018not sure where he was, but he\u2019s disappeared since. Some of us went looking for him. He was scrawny, not the kind of guy you\u2019d be afraid of. Even so, he\u2019d rip your head off if you so much as thought about messing with Ella. I remember hiring him to wash my car. He did a good job, although he barely said a word to me; I couldn\u2019t tell if he was shy or resentful, but I respected his space and stayed away. I\u2019m glad we didn\u2019t find him. I wouldn\u2019t wanna see the expression on his face after telling him what happened to his family. It would\u2019ve scarred my brain even more than it\u2019s already been. What a tragedy that was. I couldn\u2019t help but imagine that being my family instead of Gatsmen\u2019s. In that moment, I’d never been more terrified of being one of the few remaining Galosh owners. That\u2019s enough; I\u2019ve walked enough. It wasn\u2019t very often I got out of the house. It rains a lot and I can\u2019t wear ’em outside. I round the corner to my house and slowly twist the doorknob until I hear the excitement of my daughters’ voice slip through the crack\u2013\u201cDaddy!\u201d I love it when she does that. As I peek through, she trucks, arms open, into my left leg and grabs ahold like a monkey on a tree\u2013she can\u2019t reach any higher for a hug. She\u2019s only seven, and her name\u2019s Geena. <\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI mithed you Daddy,\u201d she says endearingly. <\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI missed you too sweetie.\u201d <\/span><\/p>\n She\u2019s got a lisp after recently losing her first front tooth. You should\u2019ve seen her giddy smile as she held up the tooth like it was a trophy to celebrate. Valerie dressed as the tooth fairy that night and slipped cinnamon shortbread under her pillow. Those are her favorite cookies\u2013we bake them as a family after every test she gets over a ninety-five.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhere\u2019s mom, kiddo?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou mean Valerie,\u201d she asks with a mischievous grin.<\/span><\/p>\n I chuckle. She must\u2019ve heard me call her that by accident.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s what Daddy calls her. Are you daddy, wise guy?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Val walks out of the dining room and gives me a kiss on the cheek. \u201cHi, sweetheart,\u201d she says. I feel warm when she\u2019s around; even after a long day, she\u2019s still beautiful. We started dating in high school, but she didn\u2019t like me at first, thought I was awkward. She wasn\u2019t wrong. All we had in common was biblical studies class. I\u2019d try to start up conversations in the lunchroom, but every time I\u2019d turn bright red, lock up, and end up asking, \u201cHey Valerie, how was class?\u201d I must\u2019ve asked her that stupid question a hundred times. I think she had pity on me at first, since she adopted me as her friend; joke\u2019s on her because she ended up falling in love with me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I noticed the time and got Geena\u2019s attention. \u201cStart getting washed up for bed and Daddy will be up real soon to tuck you in.\u201d She obliged and adorably ran up the stairs with her hands assisting like a cute, little puppy. At first it was strange being called \u201cdaddy.\u201d My whole life I\u2019ve been \u201cJim Holtzman,\u201d not \u201cdaddy,\u201d but I\u2019ve gotten used to it. I hear the sounds of the shower. Val and I switch off tucking in Geena, and tonight\u2019s my night. We know seven\u2019s a bit early for her age, but Val and I need some alone time. I walk up the stairs to see Geena\u2019s already tucked herself under the covers. She must be on her best behavior because there\u2019s usually a fair bit of protesting before we can get her to go to bed. But there she lies, pretty as always with her wet hair resting wonderfully against the pillow.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey, girly girl. How was your day?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n She tells me about her day in school\u2013how one of her guy friends wiped a booger on her face and how she returned the favor; their problems seem so small. Geena\u2019s noticed the changes to Lindsham. She\u2019s barely old enough to compare it to a time before, but recognizes the shift in daily life. Val thinks we ought to shield her from the distressing situation; I\u2019m not sure I agree. Either way, Geena\u2019s a brave little rascal and loves to ask questions. She describes the packaged apple wedges they gave out for snack as her eyes begin to falter. I brush her hair to the side and give her a kiss on the cheek.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n “Who loves you most?\u201d\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Half asleep, she stops to think, \u201cMom?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I smile and softly say, \u201cNo, we\u2019ve been over this. Remember? Daddy loves you most. Mommy loves you second most.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Geena giggles and says, \u201cWell, now I\u2019ll know for next time you ask me.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Of course she\u2019ll say the same thing the next time, as she always does. I look at her face for a moment before giving her one last kiss on the forehead. \u201cI love you sweetie.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Flick<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n \u2013I turn the light off and leave the room.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see Val waiting for me on the right side of the couch. She pats the left cushion and waits for me to snuggle up beside her. She prefers lying down on her left side when we cuddle, which is why she always sits on the right. I\u2019m happy either way.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHow was it tucking in Geena?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n I answer and Val\u2019s delighted to hear how quickly she readied herself for bed.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHow was <\/span>your<\/span><\/i> day,\u201d I ask. She begrudgingly tells me about the puzzle she put together with Geena; it\u2019s a puzzle I was looking forward to and she knew that. The puzzle\u2019s a cover of my favorite movie, \u201cVampire Yellowtail,\u201d we watch it every Easter. There will be more puzzles to make, it\u2019s not a big deal. Val goes on; apparently the neighbors tried breaking in again, but she took care of it\u2013as usual. I can tell she\u2019s stressed, though\u2013her shoulders tight with knots like a boa constrictor dressing the inner part of her back. I begin massaging them out for her as she sinks further into my lap. Her back is so smooth; she slowly begins to turn until I feel the warmth of her breath wet on my neck. Her lips are plush with a layer of strawberry lipstick glazing the outside. I feel them compress on my neck as she slowly kisses me down towards my chest. I\u2019m relaxed. Her leg pulls further up my body as her hand brushes along my inner thigh. I slowly slip my hands down her back before pulling her close and letting out a deflated breath. \u201cI can\u2019t tonight\u2026I\u2019m sorry hun.\u201d We haven\u2019t been intimate in a few months and it\u2019s my fault. It\u2019s like I can\u2019t keep my mind straight. The slaughter\u2019s gotten worse\u2013more frequent, more brutal. There was another one yesterday. I didn\u2019t even know Jeffrey well, but it\u2019s still overwhelming to think about. What they did to him, his leg, his wife\u2013it\u2019s unspeakable. It\u2019s not just Jeff, though, they\u2019ve been exposing more of us. How can I have sex now?<\/span><\/p>\n I feel bad for Val. She\u2019s living in the same demonic hell hole that I am, yet she\u2019s always there for me\u2013 steadfast, unshakable\u2013 like a loving partner should be.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI understand cutie; it\u2019s okay,\u201d she says while cradling my head against her chest.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She hasn\u2019t called me \u201ccutie\u201d since high school.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n We lie together on the couch, the warmth of our bodies comforting each other under the blanket. We\u2019re in the middle of reading this book together, Alone at Night.<\/em> It\u2019s a romance novel. We\u2019d thought we\u2019d give it a shot\u2013try to fill the void of intimacy via a book at the very least. She reads one page and then I read the next. We get lost in the words as I stroke her cheek. I wish romance was as easy as the book makes it seem.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Val lays her head heavy against my arm and begins to drift off.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I gently whisper into her ear, \u201cWhy don\u2019t you go to bed?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n She nods her head as she pulls herself off my body.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAre you coming,\u201d Val asks.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll come up in a few. I need some time alone.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll try and keep my eyes open until you get there. Love you, sweetie,\u201d she says as she blows me a kiss.<\/span><\/p>\n The sound of her steps fade up the stairs. Now I\u2019m alone, with the crackling of the fireplace and the chattering of the crickets. I used to feel safer here, like hell could never invade these walls.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Brrring brrring<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n It\u2019s my boss. I\u2019ve never gotten a call from him this late, but I pick up. He seems excited\u2013something about a major movie director visiting the studio tomorrow. I can\u2019t get a word in, he\u2019s talking so fast.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s coming at nine o\u2019clock tomorrow; you hear me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He wants the entire team there for the session\u2013says it\u2019s important we make a good impression. I hang up; it\u2019s been a while since going into the studio, but no more than a month or so. It\u2019ll be nice to see the team again. I remember telling Val I’d be up in a few, so I head towards the room. I make my way up the wooden steps, one silent footstep at a time; wouldn\u2019t wanna wake up Geena. The stairway\u2019s thin with creamy undertones\u2013like a velvety cheesecake. I glide open the door and find Val asleep on the bed\u2013didn\u2019t even make it into her pajamas again; one arm under her head, the other under the back of her knees. I pick her up. I lay her on her left side just the way she likes. She deserves a good night\u2019s sleep. I switch into pj’s and snuggle up beside her, pulling the blanket over the both of us. I\u2019ll brush my teeth tomorrow. The linens cuddle my skin while my hand slides across her waist. I pull her in close and rest my hand just below her belly button. Goodnight, Val.<\/span><\/p>\n 8:00 AM<\/span><\/p>\n My eyes tinker open. The alarms are subtle enough to wake me, but light enough to leave Val to her sleep. The breeze from the window hollows in the background as the sound of Val\u2019s snoring skips in to fill the gaps in the wind; it’s muted enough to be cute. The trees ruffle against the window as water trickles from leaf to leaf. I must be confused. Val shifts her hips, but I don\u2019t think she\u2019s awake yet. <\/span>Drip drip. <\/span><\/i>The covers are warm\u2013I don\u2019t wanna get out of bed, but I have to. I feel the air thick and muggy, as if it\u2019s raining. Shit! It\u2019s raining.<\/span><\/p>\n My eyes are still. This isn\u2019t good.\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The meeting\u2019s in an hour and the storm\u2019s unrelenting\u2013I\u2019ve gotta wear them. No one\u2019s outside in the rain, I\u2019ll be fine. They won\u2019t see me. What if they do? I don\u2019t wanna end up like Gatsmen or Jeffrey. I won\u2019t. No one\u2019s outside! I wash up and pick out my nicest clothes. It\u2019s the suit from my wedding\u2013buttery blue wool with golden buttons lining the edges of the jacket. I slide my pants up, one leg after the other, and adjust my tie until it\u2019s choking me like a noose. My stomach\u2019s churning. All it takes is one twisted mind to see me in the rain. For fuck\u2019s sake, why today?<\/span><\/p>\n 8:30 AM<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019ve gotta go. It\u2019s about a twenty minute walk and I\u2019d like some buffer time in between. I grab my raincoat and slither my hands into the bottom drawer glove compartment. My grip violently shakes as I pull them out. This might not be a good idea. My Plemo\u0144te Oxfords shine bright with a brogued cap toe at the end. I pull the galoshes over them while I hold my breath. Val\u2019s still asleep and I glance back to whisper \u201clove you,\u201d but quiet enough not to wake her. I tiptoe down the hall and catch a peek through the crack in Geena\u2019s door before making my way down the stairs. One step at a time, I undo my walk up from the night before and head for the door. The handle\u2019s cold. A gust of wind sleds across my face as I open up and glance out; no one anywhere.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The rain is harrowing\u2013sounds like hundreds of demons snapping at once. I try to walk normally but I\u2019m dragging my feet\u2013\u201clike that\u2019ll hide them from the people,\u201d I say to myself in a mocking tone. Stop thinking about your walk. I can\u2019t. This time, there are no people on their porches, just distressing spaces. The emptiness is potent enough to feel like it\u2019s watching me. I continue walking before seeing drops of blood mixed with rain fly up into the air. This is the end, isn\u2019t it? No it\u2019s not. I just stepped into a puddle of blood, but it\u2019s not mine. I\u2019ve gotta keep moving. My pace is frantic\u2013my legs moving fast enough to feel like they\u2019re missing.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHey, Billman,\u201d a man suddenly shouts out from his door, and I drop!<\/span><\/p>\n There\u2019s a trash bin beside me and I crawl for cover. I look at the shoes in the can and wonder if he\u2019s talking to me. I\u2019m not Billman, though; who\u2019s he talking to? My muscles lock up while my suit pants soak up water off the ground. It doesn\u2019t matter now; he\u2019ll see me if I move. \u201cYeah, I know, tough guy. I\u2019m headed back inside,\u201d another man shouts in return; he must be Billman. I tremble behind the trash. The smell of shoes is potent. I hear both doors slam shut and I think I\u2019m in the clear. I continue walking\u2013this time even faster than before. Back and forth, back and forth. My neck’s in agony from double checking; it was better when Val was kissing it. At this point I\u2019m nearly running and I don\u2019t care about looking natural anymore. As my left foot splashes a puddle into the air I hear a click in the corner of my ear and turn around. Oh my God.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cJim?\u201d His voice pierces my chest as I turn to face him. Dear God; he\u2019s got it locked onto my skull. My thoughts scream inside. <\/span>Run, just run for your life. You can\u2019t, you fucking idiot, he\u2019s got a gun pointed at your head! <\/span><\/i>He looks at my feet in shock, as if he can\u2019t believe what he\u2019s about to do. Adam could never do something like this. Every bit of me is trembling in horror. My mouth is shaking too fast for me to talk and the tears are too much. I can\u2019t see, I can\u2019t breathe. I feel like a little boy and I just wanna go home. \u201cAdam please. I\u2019m sorry for what happened to your father, they shouldn\u2019t have done that to him. I know you miss your mom and Ella too\u2026\u201d He seems nervous enough that his finger could slip and pull at any moment. It\u2019s raining harder now. \u201cYou know my daughter, Geena. She\u2019s seven and she loves cinnamon shortbread and the color pink and she loves her mom and…\u201d I can\u2019t speak anymore; I\u2019m choking on my own tears. \u201cShe just wants to see her daddy tonight. Adam please, put the gun down.\u201d I can see how much pain he\u2019s in. He looks just as bad as I do. He doesn\u2019t say anything, just looks afraid and desperate. I can hear the rattling of the gun as his hand begins to slip across the metal. \u201cAdam, I know you\u2019re hurt. I\u2019m sorry.<\/span><\/p>\n I can hear the thumping of my heart while I suck for air. It\u2019s getting harder to see, and the salty sweat continues to pour into my eyes. I should slow down, but I can\u2019t. I\u2019m almost at their house\u2013just keep running, damn it! Everything\u2019s a blur and all I can see are the panicking thoughts in my head. I can\u2019t believe they killed him. They just killed my parents a few days ago and now Mr. Holtzman. What the fuck! I remember seeing my father\u2019s leg\u2013it was terrible; I thought that was the end of it. I guess it wasn\u2019t. <\/span>Run, run, run!<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n I shouldn\u2019t be running out on the street like this, but what choice do I have? What if the blank faces on the porches recognize me; what if they know I\u2019m Jefferey\u2019s son; what if they do the same thing to my leg? It feels like I\u2019ve been running for hours but it has only been minutes.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I get to the door and knock. Valerie comes to answer. She looks confused to see me. <\/span>I see a little girl come up beneath Valerie’s left hand. She looks scared; she should be. I think her name\u2019s Geena, but I can\u2019t remember. Valerie’s eyes stare a dagger into mine. \u201cWhat happened,\u201d she asks nervously, but my look tells her everything she already knows. She\u2019s stone faced. Her mouth drops open and tears stream down her face. The little girl pulls at her mom\u2019s hand and asks, \u201cWhere\u2019s Daddy?\u201d <\/p>\n Daniel Morrison<\/strong> was born in Passaic, New Jersey, and expects to graduate in 2026. He writes, “I\u2019ve always had an inclination towards creative writing. Mostly it was an escape from the monotony of formal, expository writing, but it\u2019s developed into a genuine joy. I have a sweet tooth for creative fields, so it\u2019s no surprise that I fell in love with creative writing. I\u2019m an artist. I seriously began pursuing it during my junior year of high school, and it\u2019s recently evolved into a formalized business. Throughout that time, I\u2019ve used creative writing\u2013sometimes poems or simple musings\u2013 to express an idea into something imagistic and metaphorical. But honestly, forget about the beauty of it all; sometimes it\u2019s just freaking fun to get lost in a good story!”<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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