John J. Vinacci

The face, in this picture Looks sort, of familiar The eyes I have seen But the name rather distant When was the time, the immeasurable date My thoughts are blurry and mutated           I’ve forgotten it, don’t remember bliss           Too long ago and too far away (it all slipped away)           If we ever kissed, memory’s a ship           That sailed long ago and so far away (it all slipped away) A lover stranger than fiction Dragged by the winds ‘til barely a whisper The years a mausoleum Ancient and inconsistent When was goodbye? It escapes all my guesses The eternal sunshine of repression         I’ve forgotten it, don’t remember bliss         Too long ago and too far away (it all slipped away)         If we ever kissed, memory’s a sh...

I hate these goddamn things. If I never go to another funeral it’ll be too soon.   Chuck’s mother is crying. She’s always crying. Everything’s a fucking Hallmark moment with her. Or do I mean Lifetime Special? My thinking gets cloudy in these situations, situations where you need to find some words of consolation, but words escape you. So I put my hand on her shoulder but it doesn’t ease her hyperventilating. It’s no use. I slip my hand in my pocket and fumble around. I need a cigarette.   I’ve smoked for a long time but I don’t need a cigarette; it’s just something you do in these situations when you can’t think of anything to do or say. It’s a distraction. There’s something comforting in the habit. I don’t even have to look; I’ve done it so many times I can slide a cancer stick out of the package and bring it to my lips like I’m on autopilot. I can even bring fire, the lighter, to the tip of the cigarette based on muscle memory alone. I thumb for the chick chick of...

The face, in this picture Looks sort, of familiar The eyes I have seen But the name rather distant When was the time, the immeasurable date? I think I hear an echo of an ovation   A lover, stranger than fiction Dragged by the winds ‘til barely a whisper The years are a museum Ancient and inconsistent When was goodbye? It escapes all my guesses I’m a towering sunspot of repression   I’ve forgotten it, I don’t remember bliss It’s too long ago and too far away It all slipped away, If we ever kissed, my memory’s a ship That sailed long ago and so far away It all slipped away   A face, in a picture A lover, a fiction Surreal like a dream Handed over to oblivion It’s a lifeless cadaver, history’s little disaster It retreated hard and it lasted   …   One day, on the phone A voice sounds like, I haven’t heard it before The words I all know But their antiquity’s not persistent Why are we speaking about s...

  “Welcome to World News Today. I’m Che Colin,” the mocha-skinned anchor spoke, the reverb in his voice muted by his full-face military-grade gas mask.   “Alarming news out of France tonight, where scientists have discovered a new variant of SARS-CoV-2. They’ve dubbed it the Hugo-Unger-Gachet, or HUG, variant. Maya McKinnon reports from Paris.”   The screen cut to a petite woman with frizzy hair bopping a microphone against her similarly upgraded gas mask’s filters. “My apologies Che as we get used to these new masks in hopes of preventing infection,” she started before taking a moment to survey the street. It was deserted as was the café in the correspondent’s background. A few people in their windows above the street pulled back their curtains ever so slightly to monitor the situation as well.   “The latest variant as SARS-CoV-2 is the most contagious yet, largely due to its method of transmission,” she continued. “Once infected, a patient displays the ...

[Some context: There is some information in my unpublished autobiography that precedes the events recounted here, so I apologize for any lack of clarity in the beginning of this tale.] A true story... In the spring of 2001, if my age-addled brain recalls correctly, I started working for a gym in northern Tucson. I hadn’t been in a gym for a while and this was a big local chain so I was a little nervous at first. The income and hours were good, though, and I really enjoyed the personalities coming into the gym. My time was divided between working the front desk, floor training, making some sales, and providing massage therapy. These varied work experiences would have taken my mind off my desire for companionship at the time except for, you know, all the attractive women. Yet I felt like I owed something to my French ex-girlfriend and made an effort for us to get back together.   'Frenchy' believed me when I told her I never did anything more than kiss another woman while we...

  Twenty-something Joe stepped out of his townhouse into the sun. Spokes of light bent their way around the few marshmallows in the sky and brushed the skin of his face. A faint breeze kissed his lips. A few townhouses down, a car alarm bleated. This was as typical a city morning as one gets; in the city, there’s always a car alarm going off.    Joe and his neatly trimmed beard slipped under the cover of his knit beanie. It was still Spring after all and the sun wasn’t getting up so early that he was awake ahead of his morning coffee. Truth be told, Joe was never awake ahead of his morning coffee, which is why he was outside this morning to begin with. The young man’s day never really started until that bitter black elixir slid down his throat. What is consciousness? Coffee, if you ask Joe.   The millennial took a step off his porch and stumbled as if he’d missed the step entirely. He grabbed the porch railing before slipping down the stairs entirely. Was it ...

He’d climbed this hill a hundred times. It’d been 60 years, though, but the hill was still the same steep sonofabitch in the foothills few people bothered to summit. Jarod climbed, step-by-step, his cane steadying his once proud legs over the path’s occasional scree. Now, just like then, the journey bothered his left knee, only now a needling pain ricocheted from the outside of his knee to his ankle and back. It made Jarod gasp each time and he would chuckle; the pain, the hill, the memories – they were not long for this world. His silver mane tussled by the wind, Jarod scooped his head up towards the sky despite the sharp pinch in his neck and shoulder; it’s not here yet. His sexagenarian pocket watch – a gift from an unforgotten paramour – confirmed it. There was still time.   Time for what he wasn’t sure. To tell his human life to go fuck itself in the face of an Earth-shattering asteroid? To sigh in resignation that, well, at least it’s finally over? (And not just for him, ...

Battle-ragged steel spliced through another warrior’s skull, wetting the smattering of freshly fallen snow. Ulf whipped his sword back, throwing another line of red upon the earth. It was his thirtieth kill or so, though he wasn’t counting; only brash young warriors did that. At a certain point the kill count doesn’t matter anymore, just that you’ve survived as long as you have.   The battle had been raging for just more than two hours now. Fewer and fewer opponents appeared through the smoke and mist of winter war. Good , Ulf felt, he could use the rest. Maybe it was time to walk off the battlefield whether it was over or not. It was difficult to know when a battle was over so who would blame him if he left now? I thought I’d killed everyone , he would excuse himself if he had to.   Ulf’s broad, wolf-furred shoulders began to drop, a sign that he was losing his focus. No one came for him anyway. This likely meant his own brother was dead, killed in this very battle, f...