“The Funeral Tourist,” by Andrew J. Skerritt, appears in the Winter 2019 Issue of MQR. Everyone who leaves home and visits another place or country for any pur- pose other than business is considered a tourist. If you are a native of a Caribbean island but
Anyone who works in medicine, or who has witnessed a medical procedure, knows that the marvels of modern medicine come with various prices. One of which is trash: many medical tools and devices, like syringes, are used once and then thrown away. And each of
I think of my grandmother whenever I delight over rotting corpses and the life cycle of maggots, when I research methods of picking locks, escaping from car trunks, or working myself loose when I am tied to a chair and someone is trying to pull my teeth out with pliers. I think of her when I see unmarked vans with suspicious drivers. I think of her in dark alleys, or when I read news stories of cat murders.
That Pontiac was a classic American beauty: a long, wide yellow convertible with sparkling nickel and chrome trim, and gray leather seats with yellow stripes running down the middle.
Abu Anis and Abu Alaa insisted, peeling back the mink blankets and lifting their mother between them. She was crying as they carried her out, and I was on the verge of tears, too, glaring intently into the cross-stitch project on my lap.