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Centaur

May 5, 2016/in Flash Prose, Flash Prose, Summer-Fall 2016 / by Dawn S. Davies

[flash fiction]

I’m standing outside under a streetlamp, waiting. I’m not supposed to go in there. First, I am an alcoholic and I can’t go near a bar. I turn into a liar within two drinks, spreading gossip and promises, and hinting at extraordinary, eccentric hidden wealth. Two more and I am a beast, busting glass and wood, spurting blood, waking up later with rocks in my head, remembering nothing. Also, I’m a man of faith and I shouldn’t be in those places—places where ladies take off their clothes for money—and third, I’ve been banned. But Amber is inside there, so I stay. Check my watch. Count the time to when her shift ends.

The side door fills with light and she appears. She pulls her coat collar around her long neck, looks straight ahead, then walks down the alley. She wears sunglasses, a defensive act meant to insulate her from sloppy regulars, men who stuff her garter with crumpled ones and fives. I want to tell her it is dangerous after dark. That she needs to be aware of the dirty Lapiths who walk the night. She crosses Main and Whistler then passes the pool hall and the 24-hour Laundromat. I follow, like I do every night.

I’m not a perfect man. I’m veiny and thick and not pleasing to look at, plus I did a two-year bit for something I’d rather not talk about. I wasn’t violent. At least I wasn’t that violent. The guy had it coming. I was headed for worse until two weeks in de-seg, where I met my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. What I learned is that some of us are meant to straddle the world between good and evil and that God has made me a protector of the innocent. I have a purpose now. My purpose is her.

She steps into Bogie’s. She’ll order a burger and salad, steamed milk and Jello. I count to thirty, then go inside, slipping into the booth behind her. I order black coffee and cherry pie. Then I hide behind the newspaper and wait. When I look around it, she’s no longer there. She’s slipped away. My heart sinks.

She slides into my booth and says, “Why are you following me?” She is sharp-faced, suspicious. Her neck is thin and fine. I see tendons and ribs of trachea, a pulse fluttering under the skin. I say nothing.

“I see you every night, you know. You’re not that good at this.”

“I’m not trying to hide anything,” I say.

“Then why are you following me?

“Not following,” I say. “Guarding.” This is the truth.

“Why? You don’t know me.”

“It’s my job,” I say. “I protect the innocent. You’re an innocent.”

“I’m not,” she says. “You know what I do.” She cuts her eyes sideways.

“Everybody has a sin nature. Sometimes you can leave it behind, sometimes you have to live with it. Doesn’t mean you’re not precious.” I sip my coffee and look in her eyes for the first time. They are amber, like her name.

“I’m precious,” she says, the doubt catching in her throat.

“You’re precious in my sight,” I say. “Got a problem with that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, but she stays. Tucks her hair behind her ear. Takes a bite of my pie. Sits back.

Dawn DavisDawn S. Davies (www.dawnsdavies.com) has an MFA from Florida International University. She is the 2016 recipient of the Arts and Letters Susan Atefat Prize for Creative Nonfiction, and her essay collection, Mothers of Sparta, received the 2015 FIU UGS Provost Award for Best Creative Project. She was recently featured in the Ploughshares column, “The Best Short Story I Read in a Lit Mag This Week.”  She had a notable essay in the Best American Essays 2015, and a Pushcart Prize special mention for nonfiction in 2015. Her work can be found in The Missouri Review, Fourth Genre, River Styx, Brain, Child, Hippocampus, Cease, Cows, Saw Palm, Ninth Letter, Green Mountains Review, Chautauqua, and elsewhere.

https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png 0 0 Douglas Menagh https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Douglas Menagh2016-05-05 20:33:402016-06-14 10:08:30Centaur

Issue Archive

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  • Issue 1: Spring 2012

Genre Archive

  • Creative Nonfiction
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Friday Lunch Blog

Friday Lunch! A serving of contemporary essays published every Friday.

Today’s course:

Diagnosed at Sixty – My ADHD Journey

April 22, 2022/in Blog / Kait Leonard
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Why Video Game Preservation Matters

April 15, 2022/in Blog / Nicholas Galvez
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Sarees in America

April 1, 2022/in Blog / Majella Pinto
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Midnight Snack

A destination for all your late night obsessions.

Tonight’s bites:

QVC-land

May 6, 2022/in Midnight Snack / D. E. Hardy
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Escape Artists at the End of the World

April 29, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Lisa Levy
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The House in the Middle

April 15, 2022/in Midnight Snack / Megan Vasquez
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More coming soon!

Amuse-Bouche

Little bites every Monday to whet your appetite!

Today’s plate:

Antigone in NYC

May 2, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche, Poetry / Ann Pedone
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https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/05/nathalie-stimpfl-EDKWnb-kZV4-unsplash-scaled.jpg 2560 1707 Ann Pedone https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Ann Pedone2022-05-02 11:53:542022-05-02 08:54:07Antigone in NYC

Slackers Rule

April 26, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Karen Regen-Tuero
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Ownership Records

March 28, 2022/in Amuse-Bouche / Lucy Zhang
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School Lunch

An occasional Wednesday series dishing up today’s best youth writers.

Today’s slice:

I’ve Stayed in the Front Yard

May 12, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Brendan Nurczyk
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A Communal Announcement

April 28, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Isabella Dail
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Seventeen

April 14, 2021/in School Lunch, School Lunch 2021 / Abigail E. Calimaran
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https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/04/SL-Insta-Abigail-E.-Calimaran.png 1080 1080 Abigail E. Calimaran https://lunchticket.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/lunch-ticket-logo-white-text-only.png Abigail E. Calimaran2021-04-14 11:22:062021-04-14 11:22:06Seventeen

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Word From the Editor

Here at Lunch Ticket, 2021 represents ten years of our literary journal. 2021 marks the start of a new decade, one I can only hope will stand as tall and iconic in the history of our publication as the jazz age in America. What we’ve put together this fall is what I call and will fondly remember as our “Roaring 20th Issue”.

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