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The Cross To Bear

On the Fourth of July my wife and daughter wore shirts with flags drawn on their chests. It was all patriotic and shit. However, in the spirit of my own independence, I didn’t wear a shirt with a flag drawn on the chest. Instead, when I saw the chicken burning, I yelled like Paul Revere. Then, when we got home, smelling like squibs, my daughter played with the cardboard box that had once held the urn containing my father’s ashes. Afterward in bed, I prayed and somehow found room in my prayers for Sydney Pollack, Charlton Heston, Paul Newman, Bernie Mac, even Corey Haim. I slept for a spell and then woke up thinking about the most famous footballer in all of Perú, Claudio Pizarro. I wondered if, while children might praise him for his goals, Atahualpa turns in his grave.

A work in progress. Soon to be like the gems below, we promise. We’ll keep you posted.

Pax.

– Robert Paul Moreira

– Jerry was a lizard of a man, with those long fingers and toes that could cling to anything. He’d climb windowsills and peer through lace curtains, his tongue flicking at the flies gathered there, his head casting about, to and fro. Susanna could almost see his heart racing in his chest. — Errid Farland in LITnIMAGE

– Growing up, Jesus didn’t know he was Jesus. His parents meant to tell him eventually, but first they wanted him to have a normal childhood. So for a long time, he was as normal as anyone, if not more so—and that was precisely the problem, as far as Jesus was concerned. Almost every other kid seemed to catch the limelight for one talent or another, but not Jesus. He wasn’t fast, or nimble; he couldn’t carry a tune or do long division in his head. He didn’t have charisma like Lucifer, who led the Pledge of Allegiance over the intercom in a way that made the janitors murmur Amen. Jesus tried team after club after activity, to mediocre results. Chess club: boring. Speling bee: see? Debate made his voice crack with anger. The science fair was already dominated by the Staniciewicz twins. Every night for two months Jesus rehearsed Kipling’s “If” for the Poetry Rodeo, but once his feet hit the stage, the only words that appeared on the teleprompter of his mind were hominah-hominah-hominah. — Bryan Furuness in You Must Be This Tall to Ride

– Ben had walked into the offices of Engel man, Volger & Wat son that morning with―dare say―a pinch of optimism. Yes, he was two months behind on rent for his studio apartment. Yes, he had been on a strict diet of instant ramen noodles for the last week. And yes, luxury was not in his fore see able future. But he had finished his screenplay, revising it until his fingers could type no more, and it was his best work yet. It was salable. Even his toughest beta readers had agreed. So when Ben Trotter got a call to come in for a meeting, he allowed himself a glimpse of some thing that he had warded off with a vengeance ever since he moved to Los Angeles: hope. – Matt Mok in Writers’ Bloc

– Two people go into a coffee shop every day. They’re young, done with college, or almost done with it. Doesn’t matter. They both have jobs, and, it doesn’t matter either, how much money they make. The girl orders a tea latte. Guy orders a cappuccino. He likes it dry, to savor the espresso. They sit at a different seat, every day. Sometimes at the couch, sometimes by the window. Other times, at the back. They know all the employees, but their favorite quit a year ago. They still see that person anyway, for drinks and stuff. Shooting pool. Okay. Today, it’s sunny. Very California. The two get to the coffee shop, order, take a seat—and talk about what they talk about, every day: Death. — Benzon Ray Barbin in The Whistling Fire

– The afterlife really began to annoy Belén. True, there were great benefits to take pleasure in such as victory over pain and hunger and fatigue. And she could puff away on her fat, hand-rolled cigarettes without fear of cancer. Visiting with her husband Celso and others was not so bad, either. Here, there were no hurt feelings if you didn’t want to be in the company of others. Everyone understood. The transgressions from life on earth also were forgiven. And there was, of course, the great revelation of finally being able to see the face of God—after a lifetime of wondering. But what annoyed Belén was the fact that she still had plenty of free will. Too much, truth be told. She could stay in heaven or wander back down to earth and observe the living, visit them while they slumbered, assert herself in night visions. Belén knew before she died that spirits liked to stay involved in this way. She’d seen her own late mother, Mónica, once or twice in dreams. One day, after much thought, Belén confronted God about all this. — Daniel Olivas in La Bloga

Video: Claudio Pizarro