Chris Keyser
Stories (2)
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The Vault
The Vault Dad looked proud, although it was all mom’s idea, and as I held open the trunk of the car he gave me a wink that told me we had joined the ranks of all the normal families in the neighborhood. I had the feeling that dad felt disturbed being the head of the only family on the block still watching television on a black-and-white set, but mom had told us each time we requested the upgrade, “Some people are color blind, and they’re not ashamed.” But we were ashamed, my father and I, and although the world was alive with color, our home was all gray. I noticed a brief expression of disappointment on his face when the trunk closed easily over the great cardboard box. He was looking forward to the neighbors seeing us drive through the neighborhood with our trunk tied open, bringing home our new TV.
By Chris Keyser5 years ago in Families
Minor Gods
Minor Gods There was no time for basking in it. Perks Cafe couldn’t endure Ken Stagman for long before oscillating into hysteria. And he knew it. They knew it too. A single iphone camera’s shutter flash would dash the collective hope that the moment would survive to blossom to its fullest flower. So far, the general restraint had been maintained. The tension, however, was becoming palpable, and emotions were stretching thin. Then, as if divining Mary Murphy’s thoughts while she fumbled in her purse, Ken Stagman cleared his throat, slid the ostensible script into a beautiful leather saddlebag, stood, and crossed the peuter floor. At once, they began following him, no longer with their eyes alone, but with necks craned in awkward bend, and with faces bespectacled with glinting smartphone eyes. As he left, the bells on the door tinkled as they would have for anyone. Those bells, cheap tin bells on a faux-leather strap, bells no one on Earth apart from Beau, the barista, would have given a second thought, now meant one thing only: Stagman.
By Chris Keyser5 years ago in Humans
