Yellow Mama Archives

Jon Park
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Art by Hillary Lyon 2018


Jon Park


          Stevie is like an open book. I sensed something was up earlier in the week. We’d be having a discussion and he would just zone out on me. He was probably thinking of you and your fake tits; you home breaking whore, that’s all you are.

          We were happy in our own little world, until you got into his head and pants.

          Stevie and I had been together since high school. He was your standard jock. Good at football and tinkering with cars, and pretty much nothing else. He wasn’t the sharpest knife in the set, but he was good and decent, and I loved him with all my heart.

          I was a cheer leader. That’s how we first hooked up. I had a body to die for, then. I was three months pregnant for my prom and married to Stevie before I was nineteen.

          Stevie dropped out of college and got a job working in a body shop, that was six years ago and now he’s the head mechanic. He’s real good with his hands, I’m sure your aware of that, bitch.

          Live was hard early on, my daddy helped us out, set us up in a trailer home and gave me money when he could. Jessica was born into a happy home and Stevie adored her from the moment he set eyes on her. She’s just like him, with those dark, doleful eyes.

          Life has been pretty good to us these past six years. Stevie would always buy me flowers and a card on every anniversary. I’ve kept every one of those cards and I pressed those flowers into my memory book, where I also kept my first baby scan and a lock of Jessica’s hair.

          Just last night, I pulled those cards out and read what Stevie had written. “Tracey, I love you. My heart will always be yours.” Everyone ends with the same inscription, “My Heart will always be yours.”

          Now, Miss false tits, you’ve come on the scene and you’ve destroyed all this.

          It was just little things that got me onto you. Stevie started to come home later than usual from work. Before, he had been as regular as his morning dump. Home at five thirty, every night. I would always have a hot meal ready on the table for him and a cold one in the fridge. Then suddenly, the food was going cold and he would come home with some half arse excuse, not able to look me in the eye. That was the first sign.

          Then he started taking a shower every day before he went to work and he would get me to iron his overalls, suddenly he was taking care in his appearance, something he had never done. What sealed it, was when he kissed me goodbye that morning. He was wearing aftershave to work. Doused in cedar wood. I guess that’s when I knew for certain.



          So I had come into the shop that same morning and my suspicious where confirmed when I saw you, all glamourous with those big, false tits, stood behind the reception. You had been there a whole month and Stevie hadn’t mentioned you. I knew then what was going on and I felt my world collapse.

          A girl friend confirmed it. She had seen the two of you at the bar and grill all cosied up. When she walked in, she said Stevie had jumped up like he had just been branded with a hot iron.

          So I did what most wives would do. I checked his mobile phone while he slept. Sure enough I found the texts. You had been meeting at the motel just off route 41. Cheap place, but I’m sure good enough for what you two had in mind.

          So I confronted him. He broke down in tears, telling me he couldn’t stop it, he had fallen for you, totally. We had married too young, it wasn’t my fault. He still loved me, but it wasn’t the same. He felt trapped.

          I threw the card down that he had given me only two weeks ago on our sixth anniversary. The same inscription, “My heart will always be yours.”

          “So, tell me,” I screamed, “Has she won your heart.”

          He replied with just one word that devastated me.


I knew I had lost him then and you had won.

          He broke down and told me he was planning on leaving me tonight and was to meet you at the motel.

          It was easy getting access to the motel room. I told the manager that it was your birthday and I had a surprise for you. He let me in the room and waited while I set the bag down on the centre of the bed. The bed you expected to be fucking on later.

          As I drove back home, I wondered if you had found the bag and opened it yet. I could imagine the look on your face as your screams echo around the motel parking lot.

          But hey, like Stevie said, you had won his heart.

Art by Hillary Lyon 2018

The Magician

by Jon Park


Ray sat at the bar in the speakeasy and watched his next hit, the Magician, who was currently living up to his nickname, performing a card trick to a boisterous blonde, who squealed with delight as he made a playing card disappear from his hand and reappear down her cleavage.

Ray smiled to himself. He was witnessing the final performance of the Magician. He didn’t even know the guy’s real name.

The family had ordered the hit. And, today, Ray would be the Magician’s able assistant, helping him vanish, for good.

Why? Ray never wanted to know, his was just to execute the family’s request, quite literally, in this case.

The Magician rose from his table, sank his drink and planted a kiss between the blonde’s cleavage. Another squeal erupted from the blonde. “Just need to take a piss. Now make sure you’re still here when I come back,” he said.

Ray watched as his target made his way through the bar to the toilets at the rear of the speakeasy. Time to get to work. He sank his whiskey and followed, feeling the reassuring outline of the gun in his pocket.

Just as he went to push the toilet door open, the Magician came barging out and stumbled into him. The two grappled, until Ray’s upper body strength, courtesy of days spent in the prison gym, won through and he forced the Magician back through the toilet door. Ray shoved him away, creating space for him to pull the gun from his coat. He planted it square in the Magician’s face.

The Magician threw his hands up, “Hey man, chill. It was an accident; the floors in here are slippery. Let me buy you a drink.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ray spat, as he checked the toilets were empty. He then forced the Magician into the first cubicle, using the barrel of the gun to move him back as far as he could go.

“Hey, listen, man. If that’s your girl out there, we were just messing. You know.”

Ray took a step back. He didn’t want blood or bone getting onto his coat.

“The family sends their regards,” he said, pulling the trigger.

Nothing. Misfire. He pulled again. Click. Click.

The Magician smiled. “Out of bullets, buddy.” And opened his hand. Six shells fell to the floor.

Before Ray could react, a blade flashed in a spray of red. His legs gave way, and he slumped to the floor.

The Magician meanwhile, did a disappearing act.               



Jon Park lives in Gateshead, in the North East of England. After several years playing guitar in a local band, he turned to writing, and with encouragement from his daughters Emily and Charlotte, and his partner Tracey, he started to release them into the world. Though “The Magician” was his first piece to be accepted for publication, his story “My Heart Will Always Be Yours” appeared in Issue # 66 (Feb. 15, 2018) of Yellow Mama.

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