DETECTIVE FICTION

October 17, 1944

Given the events of the past twenty-four hours, I wasn’t sure I would ever have a chance to write what took place. I’m all wrung out, like an old dress that has been washed by hand too many times. The pattern has paled and the cloth is thin in places. My seams have begun to tatter.

But at least I’m alive. Which is more than I can say for poor André.

Where to begin?

By the itch between my shoulder blades, I could tell the creature had been following me for several blocks through the dimly lit streets of Montmartre…

A few weeks back, this picture crossed my Facebook feed, and I had one of those Aha! moments. You know, the ones the Universe needs to send ExpressPost 100+ times before they sink into a level where they genuinely shift your living.

This one is hard, so no doubt the Universe will need to send it again. And again. And probably a few more times after that.

It is so easy to judge what we don’t understand. What we don’t know, first hand. What we don’t feel in our gut. …

Retro Rewind

Retro Rewind is a weekly series that reconsiders pre-2000 pop culture. More here.

I’m too busy these days to full-body dive into the newest big game, so there’s space in my mind to mull over the best games I ever played. What’s funny is how little I remember about certain games — even though I loved them, passionately if briefly — and have vivid, almost re-playable memories of others.

Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past is perhaps the most unforgettable.

I’ve never played the sheer volume of games that I know many gamers do. For one thing, I’m…

DETECTIVE FICTION

October 19, 1944, continued

I climbed dripping from the tub and began to towel myself off bruskly. Exko’s claim that she needed a recently live body to send some kind of message had me desperately seeking solutions.

“Exko?” I whispered, not sure whether she was still listening.

Exko, exko, exko, bounced softly off the stark white tiles of the hotel bathroom and let me know she was.

“Henry is off-limits. You hear me? If you hurt him . . .” I left the threat hanging because, frankly, I didn’t know how one could threaten an all-but-incorporeal mythological creature.

Hear you, hear you, hear you…

PARENTING FOR GAMERS

Live-on-the-scene reporter Nosey McNoserson was the first to interview the distraught mother about her experience.

Arriving at the house, the reporter stated, he was surprised to find the scene incredibly chaotic. “Clothing was everywhere — on the floors, tables, lamps, even on top of the tv. And stickers — they were pasted to every surface. I was glad I was wearing my shoes because I’m pretty sure there were wet, squishy bits of food splattering the floor.”

The mother, a blonde-haired woman with wild eyes named Prin Peach, led the reporter to a couch strewn with torn pillows and dismembered…

And both hands
Now use both hands
Oh, no don’t close your eyes
I am writing
Graffiti on your body
I am drawing the story of
How hard we tried
How hard we tried

Both Hands — Ani DiFranco

The first mixed CD I ever made for a boy was when we were already in that lingering twilight at the tail end of a love affair. We knew the relationship was doomed, but we still searched each other’s bodies frantically for meaning. We hoped, I think, to find a map to lead us back to a place we only ever imagined.

You know, because love…

DETECTIVE FICTION

October 19, 1944, continued

The first thing I heard was the echoing and incessant drip of water somewhere nearby. The steady plunk, plunk — and the way it came from everywhere at once — told me immediately that I had likely been taken into the underground, the catacombs that snake beneath the streets of Paris.

I kept my eyes closed so as not to alert my captors that I was awake. I found myself propped upright; my hands were bound tightly behind my back. …