Rodney B. Lunder
Stories (2)
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Not your average tome
The Vancouver skyline spreads beneath the window, its sparkling towers just bearable past squinted eyes and throbbing temples. Flashes of last night pound through my head, vivid and disjointed: pulsing music, strobing lights, and gyrating bodies. Paul wishing me luck. A woman – one hell of a woman – pressing me against the wall of an elevator.
By Rodney B. Lunder5 years ago in Humans
Money Where Your Mouth Is
The steak drips with blood as I pluck it up with finger and thumb, its liquids pooling in the folds of the butcher paper. The curtains are drawn. Nobody can see inside, but I glance over my shoulder anyway before running the lurid beef under cold water, jaw throbbing and stomach churning as the crimson evidence of the animal's pain and suffering washes down the drain. I shudder to think of the kind brown eyes that used to rely on that blood—maybe the neighbours should know my shame. I hate myself for this.
By Rodney B. Lunder5 years ago in Feast
