The Half That You See by Rebecca Rowland (best summer reads .TXT) 📕

sunlight,” he repeated through busted teeth and bleeding gums at the dead bird. He kissed it tenderly on its beak, then let its carcass join the other bodies of the dead crows that littered the floor like beer cans at an outdoor rock concert.

Gary stood for a moment in the middle of the carnage and surveyed the living room, redolent with odors of ignited paint and deodorant; of shit, sweat, and blood. He was bleeding from dozens of tears and lacerations all over his body and couldn’t see out of one eye, but all in all, he felt damn good. He had done what needed to be accomplished, no matter the consequences, for the first time in his life.

“I need new clothes,” Gary said, then slowly walked into his bedroom. He paused to look into the mirror over his dresser; it took him a few long seconds to realize the face he was staring at was his own. The thing in the reflection resembled a surrealistic death’s head mask more than the face of a human being. Long, jagged tears ran in a cross-stitched pattern over blood-caked skin. Cracked and broken teeth smiled out of a mouth only halfway covered by the shredded remains of lips, and the right eye of the face seemed deflated and shrunken, hanging halfway out of the socket over a macerated cheek.

Gary felt light-headed and sat down on the bed. “Some fresh air, that's what I need,” he croaked, then stumbled through the gore of the living room and opened the front door.

The storm was over, leaving a clear sky and brilliant sun. Gary gulped in huge lungfuls of clean, icy-cold air and gazed across the horizon with his one good eye, the sunlight shimmering off the newly fallen white snow, giving the entire scene the appearance of heaven on earth.

And then it came to him: Donna had been right. This was God's country. But not the God of the New Testament, the God of love and forgiveness. It was the old God, the God of anger and vengeance, and it had been He who had brought the birds to Gary’s cabin, just as He had brought down the locusts and plagues to Egypt millennia ago. The night had been a test, Gary knew, a brutal test for his cowardly life of indecision and compromises.

But I passed the test. I survived the punishment.

He went back inside. “What am I going to do with you?” he said to the dead birds, then noticed some envelopes scattered over the fireplace hearth.

Gary picked up the envelopes and was surprised to see the first one was blank except for his name. He tore it open.

Gary—

You're probably reading this letter on Friday morning, assuming you've remembered to put the bills out in the mail. By now, I should be well on my way to the Florida Keys with Doug Freeman. I want you to know that he and I are still just friends, and he has helped me try to work through the conflicting feelings I have for you. I met him behind the McNealins’ barn last night—

(of course that's what she did. That's why she was so cavalier about walking. In fact, she was probably in Dougie's truck even before I finally decided to go after her)

—and that’s where he picked me up.

I won't bore you with the reasons for my leaving, but I am tired of Michigan. I am tired of the gloom and cold, and Gary, this hurts me to say this, but I am tired of your worsening, erratic behavior and unwillingness to do anything about it. With a loan that I took from my savings account— (our savings, Donna, and if you get right down to it, mysavings)— Doug is going to start up a charter fishing operation in the Keys. I hope you get the help you need, Gary; deep down I believe you're a good man, but just not the right one for me.

Gary let the letter fall from his hands. A large smile worked its way across his shredded face as he casually began throwing the birds into the fireplace until it was filled with bloody, broken bodies. He then re-lit one of the aerosol cans and began moving the flame back and forth across the bodies in wide, even movements. The heat from the flame felt wonderful on his cold skin, and he imagined the heat from the sun in the Florida Keys would feel even better.

Mesh

Michael W. Clark

It was like a fog that enveloped his feet, a fog he could feel. Maybe it was more like a fine mesh net just resting on his skin.  At least, it had the lightest of touches, and then his feet were being compressed from all sides.  It wasn’t painful yet, but it was annoying.  He awoke and quickly reached for his feet. They were bare. He hadn’t slept in his socks this night.

Maybe it was the blanket, but he had kicked it off. He always kicked off the blankets.  It was the reason his first and third wife had given for leaving him. His second wife had just disappeared without comment. He had had to get her declared legally dead so he could marry again. He had hated doing it. It had been such an insulting legal process because people made jokes. Terminally Annoyed was the most common joke cause of death. Absent without caring.  Lethal Disillusionment. Emotional Starvation. Fatally Fed up.  He didn’t think any of them were funny, because they weren’t. People would laugh at any old thing. It was one reason he avoided people when he could.

He wasn’t going to get married again. The airline tickets and immigration process were getting too expensive to do again. It was better to be alone. Wives were like predators, mostly; invaders with teeth to eat up your time and energy. Want want want. If it weren’t for sex, women would have no use at all. It was the only reason he married: unprotected sex, which was the only reason to do it. All the