“When in Rome,” June said, having already bought the Total Gladiator Experience ticket.
Only when Jack entered the arena—its sand stained from previous shows—when lions roared behind gates, when he caught June on Husband Number Four’s arm, did he regret going too far in adopting the local customs.
Christina Dalcher writes stories, many of which have beginnings, middles, and ends, although not necessarily in that order. Find her work at (b)OINK, Whiskey Paper, The Molotov Cocktail, and lots of other places. Find Christina at christinadalcher.com
, or hiding in a closet re-reading a tattered copy of The Shining.
Mind your Ps and Qs at meals. Say grace, toast the cook, push potatoes and peas onto a fork. Never let your elbows feel the linen cloth. Smile. When Father’s hand brushes Aunt Kitty’s, lingering a moment too long, look at Mother and say, “Pass the butter, please.” Be polite.
Christina Dalcher wrote this story.
It’s that level where you’re trapped
and they pour through a window
and I just zapped a bazillion suckers
and I’m like, bring it on
when a hand clamps on my neck
and blood oozes down my arm
and I guess this is what getting your brains eaten feels like.
Christina Dalcher is a linguist, novelist, and flash fiction addict from the Land of Styron and Barbecue. She’d like to raise awareness of the dangers of video game addiction. And zombies. Find her at christinadalcher.com or @CVDalcher.