Story Excerpts
by Greg Egan
Elena woke, aching, itching, queasy. She stumbled out of the bedroom without turning on the lights and made it to the toilet in time to relieve the pressure in her bowels, but no sooner was that done than she was vomiting.
She knelt by the toilet bowl, shivering, empty but still wretched. The tiles against her knees were torture, but as she struggled to her feet every other joint and muscle in her body protested just as loudly. In the bathroom, as she rinsed her mouth out, she squinted into the mirror, and realized that she was peering through barely open eyelids, not as a response to brightness but from the swelling around her eyes squeezing them shut.
Her throat was constricted, too; each inhalation was like sucking molasses through a straw. She made her way back to the bedroom. Daniel had already woken and turned on a lamp, but now he rose and approached her, horrified.
“What’s happening?” he asked.
“Call an ambulance.” Elena wasn’t sure if her words were even audible, but Daniel got the meaning straightaway and grabbed his phone. “Some kind of allergic reaction,” he guessed, as the operator quizzed him. “No, we don’t have an EpiPen. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”
Elena sat on the bed, gasping. Her arms were covered in red blotches. She was beginning to feel light-headed and vertiginous, as if she was perpetually toppling over, even though she could see that she was perfectly still. READ MORE
by Cecelia Holland
Francie scraped half-eaten cake into the garbage and plunged the plate furiously into the kitchen sink. It was her birthday, and she shouldn’t have to wash dishes. Down the hall, she could hear her stepmother yelling at her brother.
“I want that lawn mowed now!”
“It’s hot out there,” Lawrence yelled back. “I’ll get heat stroke.”
“Do what I tell you!” Suellen shouted.
A door slammed. A moment later, through the kitchen window, she saw Lawrence dashing toward the driveway.
”Hey,” Francie said, aloud, although he couldn’t hear her. He had promised to take her out for a driving lesson. She had an appointment on Wednesday to get her driver’s license and she wanted to nail that. He hopped into his car and shot backward down the driveway out of sight.
Suellen stormed into the kitchen, carrying another stack of dishes. Her hair was coiled in a bun on top of her head; she was made up like a movie star. “You kids are so spoiled.” She put the dishes on the counter. “After you’re done here, you’re going to help me fold laundry.”
Francie clenched her teeth. It was her birthday. Suellen went into the dining room and came back with yet more plates from the birthday party lunch, heaped with rib bones, corncobs, bits of potato salad and bread. “Do a good job,” she said. “I don’t want to have to clean up after you.” She stalked out. READ MORE