A H Nazzareno

“Lemon House: Casino Citron Part I” by A H Nazzareno

Submitted to Contest #179

Three years ago, a ubiquitous scrap of paper with a grammatically erroneous title (“New Year’s Rezolutions”) forced me to turn in my badge and detest the city I had sworn to protect. I found the anonymous note discarded on the stairwell leading to the roof of an affluent high-rise called Copper Condos, which was full of rich pricks. A resident had called to complain about kids setting off firecrackers on the roof. It turned out to be a gunshot.  The so-called Rezolutions printed in block letters were outlined on one side of th...

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“Happy Holidaze” by A H Nazzareno

Karin readjusted the crooked wreath when she returned home because nothing was ever right. She swung the door open and tried tossing the car keys on a hook, but they ended up in the trash. After digging, she washed the coffee ground sootiness from her due-for-manicure hands and dried them on a damp towel. Additional sniffs confirmed it should have been changed a day ago. Karin tried not to scream, so she found someone to blame.  “Well, Nick,” she seethed (even though Nick was still at work), “maybe should have changed it last ...

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“The Snow Globe Is Ugly And I Want A Divorce” by A H Nazzareno

Submitted to Contest #177

“I need … grit,” the frustrated young woman with scarlet hair slurred, a pencil clasped firmly between four pearly incisors. Tara Carter glanced up, away from the grotesque Christmas gift her husband had mailed her, and toward the rattling window. She could only think of one thing as her hand ran over a blank sheet of paper: I really need to write that letter. The unconfident procrastinator pouted, contemplating the alleged helpfulness of gritty affirmations. Her therapist had recommended the "I need grit" one last month and she relucta...

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“A Pile of Lies” by A H Nazzareno

Submitted to Contest #175

The botched Bloody Bat Recovery Mission ended with me getting caught, and I instinctively raised both arms toward the evening sky when I knew the gig was up. Dammit, I thought, I’m as good as dead.  Unadjusted pupils somehow noticed the Timex’s hands stretched in opposite directions—it was 9:15.   Although the LED floodlight was blinding, it was no accident. A lazy shirtless thug with a viper tattoo and a sinister glare intentionally flipped the switch. There was no time to think or react because I was cornered, forced to e...

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“Quick Byte Cafe” by A H Nazzareno

Submitted to Contest #174

He tapped the PAUSE button and smiled. “I can wait.” “Why?” asked the barista, waving a menu at Phil. Phil clarified. “He should be here any minute.” “Who should?” “My friend—Joe.”“Oh,” the moody scarecrow snickered, “a friend.” “Yeah.”After adjusting a puffy gray scarf, the inquisitor and sole employee at QBC scowled. “Well, take your time.” “Thanks, I will.” “My name is Charles, by the way,” the barista announced. Two bloodshot eyes rolled dramatically and a bony finger pointed to a nametag that read: Wai...

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“Lemon House: Anna” by A H Nazzareno

Submitted to Contest #163

I'm going to record all this. To set the record straight. Here it goes:My name is Anna. It's December 24, 2016.My ex-husband Leo's resonating prediction still hurts, even though the verbal wasp foray was uttered long before strands of gray and hip fat materialized. After running away from a contentious, jaw-dropping family dinner party a half hour ago, I still can’t shake the bitter warning from 1998. I will never forget the washed-out glare on Leo’s scruffy nineteen-year-old mug, peering over a cracked car window on Christmas Eve: “You’ll n...

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