Cracks
(first appeared in the anthology Cover of Darkness, Tyree Campbell, Ed., Sam’s Dot Publishing, May 2007)
That morning, Thomas Leinster did not have to narrow his eyes to make out the cracks that appeared on his bedroom wall. Not that he had much of a life, but he was willing to bet his life on one thing: that the cracks, the cunning filthy bastards out to torment him for no reason at all but because they could, crept their way across the wall and rearranged themselves into the most obvious shapes possible.
Leinster recognized the image which the tortuous lines of cracks traced on the wall: it was the face of his son Jake who died with his mother three years ago aboard the tragic flight 877.
The opposite apartment building’s wide glass sidings caught the sun’s glare and reflected it right across his windows, straight down to his upturned face. The square glass windows of his three-bedroom apartment gleamed; they resembled oversized white teeth. He forgot to draw the shades last night. He forgot to call the plumber who was supposed to fix the kitchen sink. He forgot to return Jim’s call about the goddamn compressive stress members that did not appear in the final blueprint for the Aresko’s contract. He forgot to close the windows across his bedroom to, at least, muffle the restless sound of traffic two floors down. He forgot about a lot of things.
