ONYX by Rebecca Entel • Cleaver Magazine
ONYX by Rebecca Entel Raised voices hush a room, lower eyes. But the sound of skin hitting skin. But a slap. The sound, an air-thickening sponge, slogged from one room to the next. It stilled the action in each. Heads looked away from the TV; hands paused lining the table with silverware; mouths at the door stopped saying hello. After a few minutes, our hostess came back downstairs. Her eyes were the slightest bit red. But she smiled. “Time for dinner, everyone.” We followed her into the dining room. Our host came in quietly while we were shuffling about, finding seats. He sat down at the head of the table. We avoided eye contact with both of them. Soon dinner began and was busy. Our hostess spoke and smiled; tension drained from the room. We all eased, slumping in our chairs like unclaimed marionettes. Drinks slipped through chattering lips. We … chop! chop! read more!
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