Suffer the Children by Jerry Vilhotti
the whole make-shift crib would become half of a polio leg. Tom tried to climb out but the broom handles were too high.
The mattress made from old sheets and pillow cases, which over time would become "mapeens"
known also as old world napkins,
began to spread all over him as he sank deeper and deeper.
He cried out for help; becoming increasingly more terrified as he humped himself into a corner; making plaster full of lead fall like little bombs as the gelatin-like bed shook back at him.
Puffs of skin balls on his leg; bumps like little round mountains imploded from his hip to knee.
Inside these little round spots Thomas suspected he had lost much of his leg never again to be found;
having become food for fish in deep dark polluted waters.
Words from the Sky by Jerry Vilhotti
"Didn't Christ say that a rich man has as much a chance of getting into fucking heaven than an elephant has of going through the eye of a needle, and so wouldn't you say that by taking money from evil ones it is morally wrong?" Johnny's maternal grandmother shouted.
Seeing eyes closed tightly the old lady cradling her eighty-four years went on: "Didn't He say if you don't like the sweet take the bitter - like the church leaders who killed all His Relatives said? Didn't Christ always say do with the good?!"
Getting no reply and fully frustrated, she decided to sit next to her son-in-law, who was taking up half the couch, and this did get him to rise up quickly and nervously to go sit on the chair behind his youngest son Johnny.
"I want to see the funny guy with the mustache and beady eyes and thick little glasses - or else take me back to Montreal! Canada! Oh, Canada! Where I can sit in my Sun-Yat Sen Park and smell all the Chinese food!"
"Fights on tonight, Mamasu," Johnny said.
"Who gives a pound of shit about that?!" she said pasting her most ugly look on the boy: puffing up her cheeks while focusing on his eyes.
Her little beady coal black eyes that were encased in a murky haze resembling fog made him look down at the floor and begin playing with his fingers, though he was almost a teenager.
Not seeing her son-in-law run from the parlor, she continued in her most shrilling voice that penetrated bones with her tongue without bones: "Didn't Christ say to dance to the music of animals was better than beating a guy's brain to a pulp and if you don't believe all are God's children then you are calling him a phony Sonnava Bitch because He said He created everything, the bitter and the sweet, and we should make everything sweet. But since love has died - the mother of compassion - in you mean-hearted people, what the world needs now is a big cure - fuck love - it died and all you cheating hypocrites will go and burn in Dante's ninth circle because you betrayed Him!"
The house steadfastly continued to try and ignore her. Realizing she wasn't winning this night, she decided to launch her always successful dirty attack that often made Johnny go vomit while nearly "French kissing" the toilet as his father ran gagging to his garden. Dramatically she stood in front of the set; moving her finger along a cheek as if in search of a hole to burrow deeply into. Within seconds it did find a nostril opening. As she was vehemently exploring inside she made a great dredging sound that brought up a great big heap of phlegm that she then made dangle from her fingers like a yo-yo reaching the floor.
"Jesus Christ - she's doing a walking the dog!" Johnny said holding his hands up to his mouth making a dash for the toilet.
And once again the parlor became hers.