An Uncouth Scribe

“This paper is weird. It’s all stiff and thick.” Carla’s eyes dribbled back and forth across Dylan’s restless form. He lay prone and twitching on the couch. Her gaze paused just under his belt. “Kinda like yer-“

Dylan leapt up faster than a jackrabbit on meth, grabbing the white vellum out of Carla’s hands. “Don’t be writin’ yer stupid grocery list on that.”

“Whoa. Fine. So sorry to take your,” Her fingers twitched into air quotes, “special paper.” Lips contorting, Carla’s nose squished, creating a pinched expression. “Ya gonna git yerself a fancy pen too? What’s it for anyway?”

“None of yer damn business! That’s what!” The hinges on the screen door felt Dylan’s furious shoulder and the wood porch cracked under his feet. “Damn bitch, always gettin’ in my business.”

His pace slowed as he fished a lighter out of his back pocket and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. But his draws were almost violent, lips bruising the white cylinder—a futile attempt to steady his nerves before opening the mailbox. Hollow reverberations echoed inside. The box suffered his anger, receiving a fist-sized dent in its side.


He yanked a phone out of the other back pocket. A slow flush of resentment began to rise from the base of his neck at the lack of missed calls. No new emails had his entire face enflamed.

“God damn you, Kerry! It’s been two weeks since I sent that letter.” A final pull and the cigarette was expunged below his bare heel. “You got one week, girl. Then I’m comin’.”

An unwelcome gust of spring dropped his words off at the open window where Carla had been peeking out.

Who the hell is Carrie, she wondered.

LKT © 2015

(Other segments in the Kerrington series can be found here.)


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