GLASS SOUP by Jonathan Carroll (funny books to read .txt) 📕

was so frightened of her feelings for him that she barely let him kiss her on both cheeks when they met for lunch. To her dismay, her aloofness didn’t appear to bother him a bit. Naturally she’d had fantasies during their time apart. Some important part of her hoped he would have come to the same conclusions as she and run to her when they met, hope and gratitude flying off him like sparks. Instead Ettrich looked at her fondly, as if she were an old classmate he was pleased to see and shoot the breeze with about the good old days—but that was all.

Half a year later he came to Vienna for business and at a party they both attended, Flora introduced him to Isabelle. Later she swore to Leni that she knew the moment those two shook hands that that was it; Fate had just stepped onstage. But the truth was she introduced them because she was showing this man to Isabelle for her appraisal. She wanted her best friend to meet and talk to the guy so hopefully she’d have some new insight as to how Flora might win him back.

But part of her account to Leni was true—fifteen minutes after introducing Vincent to Isabelle, Flora Vaughn had seen enough to fade into the background. She turned quickly away with a gulp and a grimace when later she saw them leave the party together.

“Hi Vincent.” She always worried about her voice when she was around him. Worried that it would betray her by going too high or low or crack or something that would tip him off as to how flustered she still was in his presence.

“Was she in there?”

The abruptness of his question took her off guard. Flora sat down. “No. I didn’t see her leave, did you?”

Leni took out her cell phone and dialed Isabelle’s number. “No, and you know she would have told us if she were going home.”

Flora’s eyes traveled back and forth between Leni and Ettrich.

Looking around the room, he slowly began to shake his head. “The whole thing is starting again.” It appeared that he was talking to someone but it wasn’t them.

Holding the phone to her ear, Leni looked at her friend to see if she understood what he was talking about. Flora caught the look and shrugged no. Then she gently asked Vincent what he meant.

Even if he had wanted to answer, there was no time. A giant, ear-splitting crash exploded from the front of the restaurant. People sitting at the tables there cried out and leapt from their places, glass shards and splinters splashing on and all around them. The wide front window of the restaurant had been destroyed. Half of it still sat in place, jagged and dangerous-looking. The other half, the top part, had burst across the tables and floors and customers seated nearby. It looked like a bomb had gone off.

There was such shouting, movement, and tumult that no one paid attention to what caused this. One minute the window was there, full of afternoon light, the next it exploded, showering a million sharp pieces of glass across the room. A woman stood frozen in place, her little round pocketbook held out in front of her like a shield to stop whatever came next. She jerked when another crash came a moment later—a waiter dropped the large metal tray he was carrying when he began to feel the glass shard wedged in his cheek. Part of the shard was black—a fragment of one of the letters spelling the name of the restaurant on the front window.

Leni had been trained in first aid and immediately went to help. Flora, not knowing what else to do, followed her.

Vincent’s eyes darted all around, taking in the scene: paranoid, dubious, taking in everything. The room was chaos. No one else knew what he knew. What was worse—what had just happened, or knowing what he did?

He wanted to stop the world for just a moment before deciding what to do next. Despite what was happening around him, he dropped his head back and closed his eyes. No good—those few seconds in his own darkness brought nothing helpful—all he knew was that he had to find Isabelle immediately.

Head still tilted back, he opened his eyes. High above the table hung his model airplane. Motionless, it looked as if it were suspended there on wires. It was larger now, twice as large as the one he had built. But even at that distance there was no question that this was the same plane—same shape, same markings. Only now it was two feet long. Big enough to break through a thick window if it hit the glass with enough velocity and force.

The instant Vincent became aware of it, the model began falling toward the table. It dropped slowly, like a leaf drifting down from a tree on a windless day. A dip here, a twist, it descended like it had all the time in the world. When it landed on his table it gently knocked over a half-filled glass of red wine.

The plane lay so that Ettrich could see the cockpit. He had done a brilliant quick sketch there with a black felt-tip pen of Isabelle’s head, as if she were the pilot. He had showed it to her as she was walking out the door to have lunch with her girlfriends. Stopping, she closely examined it and smiled. Without looking at him she asked, “Am I the pilot of your plane?” He wrapped his arms around her big pregnant body from behind and growled, “A hot dark yes to that, Cap.”

Tunica Molesta

Isabelle Neukor was flying. Not only that, but she was doing it on her back. It was the most remarkable thing. She kept turning her head to look down at the sidewalk as she flew, sure that any second she would drop and really hurt herself, especially at that speed. But it didn’t happen—she just zipped along. She was