Short Stories

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Sam Gangi's picture

Mommy

She demonically slithered into the vacant room pausing in front of a lone leather chair. It stood solitary against the drab gray wall, a black-hole of comfort, taunt and slick to the touch- it summoned her to sit. She sat with an irregular twist to her back, a hideous posture contrary to her cerebral beauty. Her foggy perspiration sticking to the pelt with vulgar rhythmic gurgles as she shifted from a parasitic stupor to a milky coherence. Ghoulish voices sprung from the forgotten passages of her mind until a lone voice beckoned her to sanity once again. “Mommy, can we go home now?” The hotel lobby still blurred by the distant sounds of muted conversation and overpriced cocktails came back into focus as she searched her purse for the keys to the minivan and slurred out her response. “Let me finish my drink and then we’ll go dear.”

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