There is a small portable television set in my room I haven’t turned on since I moved here. It’s there to fill the space. The screen collects dust and glows at night when the moon peeks through the blinds. I don’t turn it on because there is nothing worth watching. Who needs programs about cops-and-robbers or doctors? I know all about them. I don’t want to watch the news because it doesn’t affect me, or I it. The screen casts reflections. The reflections are sometimes comforting. I get to see my life in two dimensions.

Lately, I’ve been seeing Euart Monroe staring at me from inside the screen. His face is bland and pale. There is nothing sinister in his eyes. I only see curiosity and bewilderment. He doesn’t understand what has happened. He is puzzled by the intersection of our lives.

I stare at the screen for hours, and it’s always the same. Most of the time, he just watches me.

I saw him enter my room. At first, I didn’t see the bulky mattress he was carrying. I heard the door scrape against the carpet and the quiet hum of the hallway lights. I saw the mattress glide towards me. And then the blast. Why did no one hear it? It was muted, but it still bore the sound of collapsing walls, echoing like something in a cave.


Excerpt from Ordinary Handsome. Available at

Free downloadable Kindle app also available.

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