For the month of April, fellow author, Thea Atkinson is streaking through 30 blogs and flashing us a piece of fiction. I generously offered her a space today so she could expose a piece. (She made me say that - I was more than happy to do this.) My blog will be back to normal tomorrow (yeah, uh huh. Me normal?). In the meantime, enjoy and follow the links at the end to see who she flashed yesterday and who she will flash tomorrow. Feel free to leave a comment to let me know if you enjoyed the streak, and you are welcome to tweet it or share it on Facebook. You can also follow the chain through twitter with the hashtag #blogstreak
By Thea Atkinson
It had never occurred to Edgar to lock his front door. No one ever wanted to get in that badly, but when Hester came calling, selling door-to-door cosmetics with her abbreviated eyelashes and white-plastic eye shadow, he had the momentary discomfort of being tempted.
He invited her in; they sipped Postum from chipped cups, and he imagined her making women all over town beautiful. He studied her long fingers as she fiddled with the case she'd brought and realized with a dead surety that he felt Old Man River start to gurgle and rush deep down in his romantic soul.
He spent twenty bucks on a bottle of five-dollar after-shave and started his courting. He showed her his secret antique rifle collection, and despite the momentary disappearance of her drawn-on smile, Edgar felt certain they'd be happy.
On their wedding night she came to bed smelling of Avon’s Skin so Soft and looking as if her makeup case had belched while she'd rummaged through it. The next morning he was stunned to discover she had worked up a beauty routine for him.
So, he bought new locks and installed them on every door. He grumbled a bit to himself as he stood on the stoop and tested the key, making sure it locked and unlocked and locked the door again. The rattling of the gears inside echoed the mutterings he heard himself making, frustrated at having to leave his home of twenty years.
After all, it was his house; if anyone should be inside it, it should be him.
Perhaps no one would miss Hester, though, and maybe he could find an apartment a couple of counties over where no one would know him or care that he lived alone.
One thing was certain. No one would ever get in again.
And Hester would never get out.
april 4: Val Maarten
april 5 Larry Enright
april 6 Kristina Jackson