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Tue11212017

Last updateTue, 06 Aug 2013 2am

Back You are here: Home Themed Collections February 2011: Bleeding Hearts
February 2011: Bleeding Hearts
February 2011: Bleeding Hearts

February 2011: Bleeding Hearts

It's been a great first month here at Thunderdome.

This month's theme centered around the concept of Valentine's Day and the notions it conjures in people. What is it about writers that makes us skew so dark when it comes to the notion of love? Love found, love lost, love destroyed, it's all here this month. Without further ado, we invite you to read:

Short Fiction:

Shelf Life - Nik Houser tells the story of an unusual remedy for a (literally) broken heart.

Fever - Amanda Gowin puts on the red light at a gentlemen's club

Permanence - Mckay Williams ponders the layers of finalty at the end of a relationship

My On Fire Girl - edward j rathke's story encapsulates love in all its blazing glory

Rain - Charles King's heart bleeds for you

Things That Could Have Been - Danielle Tobias takes you on a bad trip

Palpitations - Richard Thomas gives us a short quick and brutal meeting bewteen a man and a woman

BackBaby - Stephen Conley views love through the painful lens of hindsight

Breaking Up - Emily McIntyre finishes this collection with a breakup

 

Michael Gonzalez

Editor, Thunderdome

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:47

The Clerk's Song

Written by

Hidden in the only ally, unbiased sleep,

the sudden summons rips my exile’s cave.

The clock that serves employers cries:

Arise! Dazed, apologetic, I mumble:

“Five minutes.” Silence the insistent nag,

my wife of passing ticks.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:46

My On Fire Girl

Written by

My lady's story is one of desolation.

Everything turned to pyre. The kiss of her skin, the song of her lungs, the life she bled all caught in flames from the same fount.

She had a name but not the one I called her.

Her blood was the ocean of fire and her skin the smoke and steam.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:45

Shelf Life

Written by

The only thing worse than a doctor telling you that you’re dying is paying him to say it.  They didn’t know what was wrong with Dolores.  Only that, if she was lucky, she had seven days to live.  On the x-rays, her heart had some kind of cloud on it.  Like a bruise.  They didn’t know what it was.

Dolores was in the grocery store, on her way home from the doctor, shopping for produce to make soup and thinking of the bruise on her heart when the pain returned and she fell for the fourth time that day.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:44

BackBaby

Written by

What if words had more power than we thought? What if they could make something real simply by being written or typed? Maybe it’s not just black on white, it’s something more and all it takes is a belief and it’ll become real.

My room is blank and cold now. The posters leer at me, everyone in them happier than I am. I stand there slouching, then fall into my blankets and pillows. I want to keep sinking into them, into the better world below them, swallowed by nothing but fluff and warmth. Instead they’re blank and cold, like the rest of my room. If you were here I could feel everything but you’re not. Blank and cold it is.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:43

Rain

Written by

Those tiny black ants, sugar ants she calls them, climb from the floorboard up onto the seat. They swarm all over the red raspberry Tootsie Pop on the cheap fabric of the bench seat. Still wet from my spit, it shines a little through the seething mass of little bodies.

Rain beats down everywhere, relentless. So hard it tears at the the flowers scattered around the roadside.

Leaning over to pick up the stick end of the candy sends shooting pain all through my midsection and up to my chest. The muscles tense, and breath catches. This is the exact opposite of an orgasm.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:42

Breaking Up

Written by

We broke up Thursday, Valentine’s Day. It was not I who did the breaking, nor was it him. It was only the waves of the ocean that broke us, and only the pulse of the sea that shattered our hearts on its rocks of discontent.

Not the literal ocean, of course. Poetically speaking. Raymond and I are always poetically speaking.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:42

One Market

Written by

One Market
Drinks flowing
Her friends, not mine
Screwdriver, jingling ice: my crutch
Surrounded
Alone

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:36

Gob Heart

Written by

There is hair on your chest
where the incision begins.
It covers the flight of stairs
with long knotted rope.
Choose how to climb down,
to land in a ball
or roll like your stammer.
No card for you this year,
or last for that matter.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:35

Palpitations

Written by

She fractures my dreams.

I wake up coated in a sheen of sweat, a shadow passing in front of my apartment window. Cotton in my mouth, teeth marks on my chest, there is a stinging sensation up and down my back, my sheets dotted with blood.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:34

Permanence

Written by

I can’t feel a thing, but I know I’ve hurt myself.

The door slams on my head again, and this time it drops me to the floor. I can barely feel it. My head rests halfway out in the hallway and smell Ethiopian food from 3b down the hall.

It’s funny, the things you think of when faced with the sudden, immediate pain.

Monday, 31 January 2011 18:33

Fever

Written by

Discipline, geometry, timing, and rhythm.

Caroline undoes her tight French braid, finger over finger. Mouth set, she tucks her chin and yells from beneath her veil of hair, “Run it from the top!”

The first notes of Elvis’s version of “Fever” bleed from the walls, top volume. Right hip locks with the blue light every second flash of the fixed strobe pattern. Three lights: blue, red, purple. White spotlight for new girls, they work under a fixed, merciless circle, hesitation their selling point.

Stock still except for the hip, rolling the flesh and bone outward. Forward step, discard the blue, left leg hyper-extends into purple. Legs together, head forward, arms at sides, hips thrusting slowly through the rest of the bass intro.