Karl El-Koura
The DJ announced the next song would be the last of the night, a final slow number to share with that special someone.
My legs were killing me. I’d only just slid down the wall to rest on our high school gymnasium’s floor. But this was it. Now or never.
I pushed myself up with help from the wall.
Don’t already be dancing with someone, I prayed.
She wasn’t. She sat by herself at a round table, sipping a soda.
Just don’t say no, I prayed as I walked up to her, as I asked her to dance. Just don’t say no.
She turned her pool-blue eyes on me. She smiled slowly, then she started laughing. She laughed and laughed and laughed so hard that I began to worry she might hurt herself. Then she got up and walked over to where a group of her friends were standing around, and struggled to stop laughing long enough to tell them what had happened. Her friends looked at where I was standing, frozen in place. They all broke out into laughter too.
I sat down with my back to them, so she wouldn’t see the smile on my face. She’d laughed at me, sure. But she’d never said no.
Karl El-Koura lives with his family in Ottawa, Canada's capital city, and works a regular job by day while writing fiction at night. To find out more about Karl, visit his website at ootersplace.com.
I'm getting to be pretty good with a knife.
I wasn't before. Took me five minutes to dispatch poor Mom. She was staying over because her and Dad and were fighting again.
I was in the kitchen, chopping cucumbers. She came out of my guest room, and right away I saw it.
"No," she said, backing away. "It's not what you think, honey. I'm just tired."
But I worked in a hospital—cleaning up spills, sure, but I worked in a hospital and I knew. Slash, slash, slash and I thought that would be it. I followed her to the ground—stab and stab and stab, but still no. She tried to say something—slash and that did it.
Emergency response took her body away and, of course, checked me over, but I knew they would and I'd prepared.
Next time it was quicker—still messy, but quicker. I never liked door-to-door salespeople anyway. Then with Sally I learned that if you jab your knife into the exact right place, you won't jab twice. Sally had seen the signs of infection before I could put in the eyedrops, so it was her or me, and it wasn't going to be me.
Lots of people blame God for this. What's the point of thinking like that? Things are the way they are, so you find a way to deal.
And like I said, I'm getting to be pretty good with a knife.
Karl El-Koura lives with his family in Ottawa, Canada's capital city, and works a regular job by day while writing fiction at night. To find out more about Karl, visit his website at ootersplace.com.
A person walks down the street. I do not say that they are the protagonist of this story, for why should one person be any more important than any other? I give this non-protagonist (which is not to say there is anything wrong with protagonists) no name, and I do not wish to describe what they look like. I do not say they look like anything in particular.
I say only that this person walks down the street. They arrive at the end of the street and turn in a particular direction. I do not wish to say which direction. The less said, the fewer offended, am I right? Or am I left? I do not say one word should be used over the other.
This walking person (I do not say walking is superior to driving or rollerblading or any other form of transportation, simply that in this particular case the person walked), this walking person arrived a short or a long time later at their destination, which I do not wish to state. This person, as I say, arrived at their destination, and this person was happy to do so. I do not say happiness is better than joy, or even more desirable than a quiet contentment; only that this particular person, who happened to be walking in particular, was happy to arrive at their particular destination.
Karl El-Koura works a regular job by day while writing fiction at night.