Caldera
by Adam Moorad

At the age of ten, the son had a mouth of lava so full the father kept him in a room with an open window to help with the steam.  For hours at a time, the son would erupt, pumping molten rock from his tongue which would fall to the carpet in juicy, red clumps.

Every so often, the mother would appear at the door with coffee mug of brandy and the son would spit hot pebbles at the wall beside her.  She would laugh and drink and shake her head in an enduring way before retiring to another place.

Soon, the son’s gums turned to ash and his lips became wet lines of coal which dirtied his chin and throat as he drooled.  He hung a poster on his ceiling of a Christian ministry and slammed his door repeatedly for attention in hopes of wining back his freedom. 

Still he was not permitted to leave.

I give up, thought the son with small blades of flame flickering in each eye. He fell into a cold stage of gasless dormancy.  Then, because they felt compassion, the mother and father approached the son, saying indecipherable things about soot and heat.  Eventually let him leave and when the boy moved, rocks began to fall from his face and the earth shivered soft trembles as the planet’s tectonic plates shifted beneath them.

What did I do, thought the mother, to deserve a volcano?

 

ADAM MOORAD has writing published or forthcoming in 3 A.M. Magazine, Johnny America, PANK, Storyglossia, and Underground Voices. His story “Star-Spangled Enterprise” was a nominee for Best of the Net 2009. He is the author of an ebook, The Nurse and the Patient (Pangur Ban Party, 2009). He lives in Brooklyn and works in publishing. Visit him at adamadamadamadamadam.blogspot.com.

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