FIFTY-THREESunday heat intensified as clouds brooded in the sky. The ozone remained heavy, burdened, appropriate. Every time a face peered from the house, it stabbed the passengers’ collective consciousness, a series of small defeats that confirmed where those on route 243 were and what they had been reduced to.Jack was in the backseat with Sarah not too far away. Diana’s need to urinate overwhelming her; she closed her eyes and tried to distract herself with rocking, rocking. Julia fought the urge to suck her thumb, imagining that she was in her bedroom writing in her diary, an entry that read: nothing much happened today. Michael was closest to the dead body with his hands over his mouth to keep the stink at bay, a stink so thick he was sure he could feel it on his skin.Every window had been closed to stop more flies from getting in. They watched them congregate on the other side of the glass in writhing patches.In the steamy silence, Julia whispered, “It’s a girl.”Diana li

FIFTY-ONETen-year-old Jack in his backyard. An airplane carved a long, white streak through the orange sky. His senses were alive with the smells of barbecue and the apple tree.He heard a scream. It echoed across the yard.It came from inside his house, which towered above him, its mass a jagged silhouette against the sunset. The back door opened. He remembered the sound of it crashing against the wall. Kimba, the family cat, ran ahead of his father’s feet and scuttled under the stairs. His dad was a hulking, whiskered mammoth lurching and wheezing as he ran.The screams belonged to a boy, although the wails were high-pitched. It made him laugh, despite the fire in his father’s eyes as he approached.Jack felt the heaviness in his hand.He looked down. The sky, the airplane, the house and his dad tilted away until he saw his shaking fingers, and what he held in his grasp.Scissors.

FORTY-NINE:BangkokBangkok was everything the travel agent said it would be. Michael fought through congested traffic, laughed at the total disregard for rules and the polite sensibilities of the Western world. Going to Thailand was the best thing he’d ever done, perhaps an even greater achievement than losing weight.Nobody knew him there. He could swish when he wanted to and nobody called him names. Michael didn’t mind the looks he got from some of the guys in the streets. In fact, it excited him.He saw a live sex show in the red-light district. Watched a woman tug a birdcage from her vagina, then live birds. Another pulled a transistor radio out. Hotel California played through the speakers.Later in the week, he stumbled into the gay district. Effeminate staff beckoned to him as he passed.“Sexy white boy, where you from? Want to see cabaret show?”Flashing lights inside and bland, though not entirely unappealing music. Rows of chairs faced a stage where velvet curtains we

FORTY-SEVEN:Bled WhiteSantorini was white, as though an artist scraped away Fira’s colors to rediscover the canvas underneath. Empty streets and not even the sea made a sound.Diana fell in love with the city on her travels before landing in Australia. It soothed her, made her whole again after her mother’s death. Now, she felt like Dorothy coming back to the Emerald City only to find it home to vandals and all her friends turned to stone. There was no queen with a hundred heads here though. Only silence.She wove through the narrow streets. At the bottom of an incline, she turned and looked up a thin, cobblestone street. Diana saw him then.Him.The brother.The one with the eagle tattoo on his back.He walked towards her, his pace steady. Face contorted. She couldn’t tell if he smiled or screamed. Terror gripped her.The ground underneath their feet shook and the brother stopped.Behind him, there came a gigantic tide of blood, meat, and paint. It rushed towards her. He b

FORTY-FIVEAs Michael neared the deformed bus door, he thanked a God he wasn’t sure he believed in for air that didn’t reek of septic tanks and abattoirs. He sucked in a hot breath and thought, Man, that feels better.He had an issue, and it was a big one considering their circumstances. Michael needed to pee. He’d contemplated using the corner next to the driver’s upturned chair. Only no, that wasn’t an option. The bus was on a slant and the stream would run across the floor and down the steps. It seemed undignified, like a dog. He almost laughed. This isn’t the time to be coy, he said to himself. You’re not a prisoner by choice, you know? A shake of the head, decided. The corner just wasn’t going to cut it; he would piss out the door instead.Before going to the front of the bus, he told the others what he was going to do. They tried to talk him out of it, explaining the risks of being seen. He convinced them that he could manage to do it without drawing any attention.“Can’t you