‘Groceries’, ‘Perhaps’ & ‘Dr. Joe’
Nicole Farnsley is a photographer and art director from Louisville, KY. She is pursuing a BFA in communication design from Washington University in St. Louis. Her work has been featured in various publications, including Armour Magazine and Strike St. Louis. You can see more of her work on Instagram @nickeltookit or on her website nicolefarnsley.com.
Groceries
I couldn’t help it. I must have walked past dozens of sleeping bags and cardboard signs on the sidewalk, but when she emptied her bag on the grocery counter, pawing through the mess for change, I couldn’t help but feel sorry.
“Here, uh, I can pay for it.”
Her eyes flashed through greasy bangs.
“Screw you. I don’t want it anyway,” she snarled to the line gathering behind me.
Jamming the debris into her bag she loped toward the exit, her gaze flitting back at the onlookers.
I stared at the abandoned necessities by the register: water, bread, tampons. It couldn’t have been more than twenty dollars’ worth.
* * *
She sat on the grocery steps, still rifling through her bag. I passed without a glance, paused, and pulled out my wallet. As I juggled shopping bags a twenty fell to the pavement. By the time I reached the car, both the girl and the twenty were gone.
Perhaps
Evening spills into your room, igniting ragged curtain hems. I lift you from the crib, bed warmth soothes a tense chest. We glide to the rocking chair, sink into its embrace. Your head nestles under my chin. You smell of sunblock and sand, adventures in long grass, forts in the laundry. The mischief I’ve missed.
I lay you back in the crib, slip noiselessly through the door. Perhaps one day you’ll read this and tell an old man what he missed.
Dr. Joe
Dr. Joe slipped into the medical compound, military experience showing in his stride. He smiled to the small figures melting out of the morning grey. Elsa’s twisted leg ached with cold as she watched him approach the surgery, turn, and whistle.
“Anybody? I’ve got sweets for the fastest runners!” Elsa recognised the gleam in his eye.
Small grey figures flocked, hesitating before his uniform.
“It’s alright,” smiled Dr. Joe, kneeling.
Several figures ventured closer. The doctor extended a fistful of wrappers whose brightness pierced the morning. Elsa’s mouth watered. Little fingers reached for hardened sugar. Dr. Joe’s eyes gleamed.
A lieutenant emerged from the surgery.
“Uh oh,” said the doctor, “I have to get to work. Can I get a volunteer to help me?”
He made a show of putting the candies in his pocket. From her hiding spot, Elsa saw the barbed wire gleam in Dr. Joseph Mengele’s eyes.
Erik Peters is a father and avid mediaevalist from Vancouver, Canada. His writing is influenced by late antiquity, his family, and his students. Erik has been featured in Coffin Bell, Zoetic, Takahe, Beyond Literary Words, and Thirty West. You can check out all Erik's work at erikpeters.ca.
