by Nicky Schmidt
The air trembled…. A hundred tiny feet skittered through the undergrowth as a single beam cut through the darkness… far above an angel’s voice sang…
“Marcie! Whaddayadoin’? … I spoke to you woman! Whaddyadoin’?”
She rubbed her temples. He never understood – never would.
Words meant nothing to him – they fled from him. He shunned them.
“Marcie! Dammit woman, I’m speakin’ to you! You at that damn ‘puter? Writing them stories again? Dumb bitch! That crap won’t put food on our table. Stuff you dream up’s rubbish. Nobody’d pay good money for that.”
The air trembled…
“Get me a beer, woman!”
She stood in one fluid movement… slid open the drawer, her fingers searching for the flashlight.
She padded to the kitchen, yanked open the fridge. The can was icy in her grip. She passed the draining board… her hand ran over it - found what it was looking for.
“Marcie! Oh... there y’are.”
She tossed the can at him… flicked the light switch.
Darkness engulfed the room.
“Whatcha do that for, crazy bitch?”
Her finger pushed the button on the flashlight… shone it in his face.
“Put the light on!”
She glided towards him, the single beam trained on his face - slicing through the darkness.
Bemusement flickered in his eyes.
Her movement was swift, sharp. He barely had time to cry out. His gaze fluttered down to his shirt front.
He stared up at her…
“Sssh, Ralphie,” she whispered. “Can you hear the angel singing?"