by Neon Books
He was crying, and his look was gifted with a simple care that she began to accept despite everyone else. She found herself smiling, and the restaurant erupted in applause, employees approaching from the counter to commend her as she patted the man’s back and returned to her table.
What an angel you are!
PAUL said, like a child, as she joined him. Was she feeling proud? She could feel her heart pumping in her chest as if a new one had been planted there. But before she could respond, the manager had come to offer a passcard for free meals.
It’s the least we can do, please, Ma’am.
No. Thank you. I’m okay.
She caught herself laughing this, her chest swollen, heart jumping out of casement. The manager left and asked everyone there to give her another round of applause, and they did. She laughed again, covering her open mouth with her palm. PAUL took her other hand and held it.
Take me to a movie,
she said, and his eyes lit up. They left their table a mess, which nobody minded cleaning up. Nothing could stop the people in the restaurant from feeling perfect after that. The manager was even able to give her the card, just as she opened the door.
*
Love Drug In Pill Form
It's expensive.
An old man claws out fistfuls of cash from the calf leather of his wife's purse for another bottle.
The clerk approaches, says they're out of stock, and you should hear us scream. We turn toward the old man before he makes it through the mob.
Soon there’s a pearlish skitter on the shoe-scuffed linoleum. The youngest are fastest to their knees, as the height of the mob shrinks, becoming insectile and fiercer. I am half-conscious of how voiceless we’ve become as my fingers sweep the dust in search of two.
I remember the first commercials. A woman gowned in red. A man in a tux. Both of them standing in the middle of an elegant staircase. It looked like the Titanic, like James Cameron’s Titanic.
They meet, feverish, marble-eyed, faces lit up in a jazz-warm glow. It’s not a confident love. Not a fashionable love. Trembling, apoplectic, both of them with desperate mouths.
The tension felt so real to me. It was impossible to stop watching. Like a fire struggling to stay alive. It’s not in the TV anymore. I remember it. I see them embracing and feel the bath of relief all over again.
The couple liquefies just as they kiss. They burst into a pink mist as the picture dissolves. We’re transported to an average-looking office building as the pink wafts into a stairwell, where our two actors meet again, both, this time, wearing black suits.
But then we zoom out – the mist pushing at the limits of the frame. We see that everyone on the stairs has been paired, couples of every type bonding together on the stairs – their dropped papers and pens washing down the steps as the shot follows.
Finally, there’s only a broken pen and a piece of paper in the shot. The ink spills out from the pen and its pools form the company logo: a simple, unembellished heart. We zoom into the heart’s pool until a white script enters the centre:
No professional actors were used.
This was a documentary.
It’s the only commercial I’ve ever dreamt about. I realize though that everyone has stood back up and left the store. The clerk is standing over me, looking concerned.
I scan the floor around me. There’s nothing but a few streaks of blood. The clerk sighs with pity and places a hand on my shoulder, but then I stand up and open my hand. I open it palm-up so he can see.
We share a laugh.
Contributors
Image by Anita Berghoef
Sean Markey is originally from Charleston, SC. He is currently pursuing a Bachelors of Art in Elementary Education at Westminster College in Salt Lake City. His fiction has appeared in Fantasy Magazine and Sybil's Garage. For more about him and his work, see his website. Contact him on Twitter @seanmarkey.
Laura McKee lives in Kent and began writing poetry by mistake, a few years ago. Her poems have appeared in print journals, as well as online, including Aireings, Other Poetry, Obsessed With Pipework, Prole, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Lake, The Journal, Morphrog, Lunar Poetry. Contact her on Twitter @Estlinin.
Sam Kolinski began writing in Glasgow. His poems have surfaced in numerous publications, most recently The Glad Rag, Dactyl and the Glasgow Review Of Books. Poems are forthcoming in Southlight. Sam was recently shortlisted for the Jane Martin Poetry Prize 2014 and is currently preparing his debut pamphlet.
Paul Clyne lives and works in Fife, Scotland. He graduated from the University of Stirling with a BA in English Studies. His poetry has appeared previously in Magma, Snakeskin, The Open Mouse, Nutshells & Nuggets, and Ink, Sweat & Tears.
Ruth Brandt was raised in Bristol, England, and now lives in Surrey with her two sons. She is studying the MFA in Creative Writing at Kingston University. Her short stories have appeared in anthologies including Take Tea With Turing, Bristol Short Story Prize Four, Leaf Books, Ripple 2013 & 2014; have been performed by Liars’ League; and published in magazines including Litro, Gold Dust, Candis, Yours, and Ireland's Own. She is currently working on a novel.
Flavian Mark Lupinetti, a writer and cardiothoracic surgeon, obtained his MFA in Writing from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. His stories and poems have appeared in Barrelhouse, Bellevue Literary Review, The Examined Life, Cutthroat, Kestrel, Red Rock Review, Words And Images, and ZYZZYVA. He lives on the northeast coast of the United States with his dogs, the Four Weimaraners Of The Apocalypse.
Mack Gelber works as a writer and editor. His fiction has appeared in Joyland Magazine and the Bushwick Review, with work forthcoming in Juked. Find him on Twitter at @mackgelber.
Jenny Blackford is an Australian writer and poet. Her stories and poems have appeared in places as diverse as Cosmos, Strange Horizons and Australian Poetry Journal. Her first poetry collection, The Duties Of A Cat, was published by Pitt Street Poetry in late 2013.
Kate Wisel lives in Boston. Her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in The Drum, Mad Hatters' Review, SmokeLong Quarterly, Compose Journal, and her poetry in The Altar and The Blotter. She has attended writing workshops in New Hampshire and Guatemala and was awarded a scholarship to The Wesleyan Writers Conference.
Paul French was formerly the Managing Editor of Puerto Del Sol. His work has been featured in Word Riot, Slipstream, and Harpur Palate, among others. He was the recent winner of a Kevin McIlvoy and a Peter Harris-Kunz Fellowship. He has just finished the manuscript of Love Machines and is currently seeking a publisher.
Sarah Katharina Kayß studied Modern History in Germany and Britain. Her artwork, essays and poetry have appeared in literary magazines, journals and anthologies in Germany, Switzerland, Austria, the UK, Italy, Canada, New Zealand and the United States. Sarah is a recipient of the Austrian-VKSÖ Prize and winner of the manuscript-award of the German Writers Association for her poetry and essay collection Ich Mag Die Welt So, Wie Sie Ist which was published in Germany in 2014. She edits the bilingual literature magazine The Transnational (www.the-transnational.com) and works on her doctorate at King's College London. www.sarahkatharinakayss.com.
Supporters
This issue of Neon would not have been possible without the generous support of:
Udita Banerjee (about.me/uditabanerjee)
Øyvind Eide
MAKAR
Mark Hla
Ross McCleary
Tracy Fells
Sandeep Jonah Newton
Billie Pritchett
Petr Titze
Julia LaSalle
Emilie Collyer (www.betweenthecracks.net)
John Friel
Jonathan Huston
Al Kratz (pitheadchapel.com)
Mark Gillespie
Blasted Books (www.blastedbooks.com)
Alexander Romano
Charlie Hill
Sean Watkin
Gavin Cruickshank
Alexander Briggs (alexanderbriggs.tumblr.com)
Natasha Sudiaman
Anna Young
Eleanor Mears
Alina Rios
Nick Lord Lancaster
BC Bergan
Jones Jones (jonesjones.moonfruit.com)
Mark Plummer
Janet Olearski (www.janetolearski.com)
Katy Lennon
Matthew Macdonald
Jennifer Singleton
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