The night winds howled outside my rain-covered window, and I wondered what I was doing at Hathaway House. Hathaway House was a giant prison, a square, broad building, all brown and architecturally astounding, and full of tiny eyes that were called cells. All the lights of all the rooms in Hathaway House, or Halfway House as I jokingly called it, gleamed in the night. Each room contained a ghost or two and were colored according to the emotions they had when dying. Some were blue, some were red, some were gold. At least, that’s the story I liked to tell myself. I was prisoner #1137 out of 4,195, on the floor full of convicts, murderers, adulterers, fornicators, and addicts. And I was all alone, listening to screams and hearing my own internal ones.
Chocolate Cake in Ferriday, Louisiana
“People still a lil’ ol’ fashioned down there, but you’ll do fine. Just keep yo’ head up.” Ms. Eaton, a frequent customer at the small department store, smiled with secretive but knowing eyes at Beverly. Then she coolly left the store. Beverly smiled and shook her head from side to side, feeling silly for considering such an idea, and looked out the window into the light.
A Brief History of the 20th Century
(LIGHTS UP on a white ramp with an iron railing. The ramp leads up to the entrance of a larger building. It is late afternoon. Two brothers, THE 1970s and THE 1980s, are leaning across it in a casual manner. They are talking. THE 1970s has light brown, slightly messy hair and is in his early twenties. He wears a fitted green shirt and tan brown bell-bottom pants. THE 1980s has black hair and is in his early twenties. He is wearing black fingerless gloves, black boots, and a thin, black overshirt that is unbuttoned over a black shirt. THE 1970s is carefree, funny, and calm. THE 1980s is casual, pithy, and dark.)
Getting Into the Swing of Things
“Hey, bub, it’s time to get out,” he said to me with a somber expression on his pale, aged face. “No,” I said grinning. “It’s fine.” I wanted to stay on that floor forever, entirely wasted, and not giving a damn. “I mean, who’s here?”