Twisted Together

By Meagan Noel Hart

"Dark and quirky." -- Kendra Kopelke

These seventeen pieces of short and flash fiction visit many characters and their twisted and sometimes humorous perspectives on love and friendship, whether they struggle with the feelings of displacement after an accident; having to euthanize a useless mutt; searching for a missing father; surviving a friendship that doesn't make any sense; a desperate need for connection; or the ignored feelings of a lonely cigarette.

As the characters make their own realizations (or lack thereof), readers begin to see the impact the unwanted can have in any relationship, for better or worse, and become invited to examine their own relationships and perceptions of what is normal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Meagan Noel Hart
• Release date: Apr 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476020136

Meagan Noel Hart

Meagan Noel Hart is a lover of all stories and is grateful she gets the chance to add her own to the mix. She has the privilege of twisting and molding the minds of young college students, and currently she resides in Baltimore with her husband, birds, and cats, but who knows where life will take her next? Meagan holds a MFA in Creative Writing & Publishing Arts from the University of Baltimore. Previous publications include “Better Off Gone” in Welter, Spring 2009 and a hand-made edition of _A Short Stack of Silly Shorts for the Morally Sidetracked_, which is in its 6th run at Atomic Books in Baltimore, MD.

Book preview

What others have said about Twisted Together:

Just as a storm invites us to see an ordinary thing in a new way, so does this collection

--John C. Wilson

Quirky and dark.

-- Kendra Kopelke

Hart’s captivating writing forces us to pay attention to her characters and their seemingly normal stories. But in the end, we begin questioning what it really means to be ‘normal’.

-- Rose Huber

Twisted Together

Written, designed, and published by

Meagan Noel Hart

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Hart to Heart Publications

Also available in print.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

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Table of Contents

Around the Block

Unwanted

Friends Forever

The Social Life of Edward Stolkes

The Kays

After 40 Years

Forever Green

Curdled

Warning

The Favor

Hickory

Because

Morning Commute

Red Ball

Out of Me

Better Off

The Empty Fields

About the Author

I think, as I watch them live their lives, flipping through mail and tossing Frisbees, that people are not so different from one another, that they are not so different from me. Then I realize that I am watching them, but none of them are watching me.

--Edward Stolkes

Around the Block

It doesn’t take long to hit the glass. One moment you’re having a good time, no need to buckle in, it’s just around the block, next moment you’re through the windshield. It’s so fast you don’t know how you got there, on the hood of the car. Wait, no, on the hood of someone else’s car. This isn’t Beth’s car. Beth hates red cars. For a second there isn’t pain. There isn’t sound. Then there’s a ringing, and you’re dazed. Then there is everything all at once. That isn’t a ringing, it’s screaming. No, it’s not you. You know it isn’t Beth. If you roll your eyes and focus, you can see she’s still in her seat. Her air bag went off. How fast were you going? How fast were they going? Who is that screaming? Maybe someone moves you. Maybe there are flashing lights. Maybe there is a woman in a housecoat screaming in the street. Maybe there’s a man with a phone. Does someone touch you? There’s so much pressure. This is all you remember for the moment, then there is blackness. There’s no light, no angels, no life flashing across your eyes. Maybe you haven’t lived long enough. No, it’s like Novocaine. One moment you’re counting down from ten the next you’re in a white room and you can’t feel your face. There’s a balloon and someone crying. You see they’re holding your hand, but you can’t feel it. They haven’t left your side. Maybe they say something encouraging. Maybe they are happy to see your eyes open. Maybe they don’t notice. Maybe you imagine a brief stream of visitors passing through and stroking your arms and face. Maybe they bring you a big yellow bear. Maybe one of them is Beth, with blackened eyes and a neck brace. Maybe a day passes. Maybe a week. Then they want you to sit up and eat Jello. Then they want you to wiggle your toes. Then they write something down and don’t tell you if you wiggled your toes or not. Then your mom is there. Was she there before? She walks in the room and starts bawling. She’s screaming like the woman in the housecoat, tears run down her face, she looks a wreck, but she says she’s just so happy. Time passes. It’s hard to keep track. They run all the daytime TV shows twice and, by evening, you’re pretty sure you pass out. You fell asleep watching a soap opera and woke up watching the same soap opera. You thought it was a moment, but your lunch had changed from roast beef to soup and the sun had disappeared. Beth comes again. She looks beaten. You ask where she’s been, but she’s only been with you, in the car with you, down the hall from you. The guy who hit her car died. He was old. Hallucinating. Thought he was in the war. Thought he was racing away from Nazis. It wasn’t even a street he was looking at. There’s no way he saw you. Beth was speeding too. Then they wheel you out, eventually. Invite you back for therapy. Load you into your mom’s car. In the back. Your cast is in the way. They can’t buckle you in. It’s OK. It’s just around the block.

The Unwanted

The woman brings the mutt down the few steps of her pristine home. She steps carefully and firmly in her high heels. She leans away from the dog, holding the leash at arm’s length, taut above the small dog’s head like she thinks it’s an ankle biter. The mutt wags its body and stumbles on the last step. Its hair is tangled and brown. It used to be white.

Anthony leans against his truck, thumbs in pockets. They don’t usually do pick ups, unless the animal sounds dangerous, but this is a favor for Lil. The woman promised $75 for something, in this town, he may have done for free. He’s not used to seeing dogs like this. Dogs with life shaking their bodies, lolling their pink tongues, just pleased to be outside. He doesn’t move as they approach. The woman gives a gruff sigh, but makes the extra length to his truck.

Are you the one that does the job? she asks.

Anthony looks down at the mutt. It’s missing an eye.

Yeah, I’m the one. He might as well be.

Good.

She pushes the leash toward him, still keeping it at arm’s reach. Good. The word has weight. Wholesome. Earthly. It is solid and unmoving. Like