• chris-marcatili

A Boy Named Sodom

Karen threw the gloss magazine down onto the coffee table with vocal disgust. When Gillian didn’t respond immediately, Karen picked it back up, flicked through a few more pages shaking her head and then dumped it again on the table. It near spilt Gillian’s latte—that was enough to get her attention.


‘What’s up, Karrie?’ she saved her latte from further danger.


Karen jabbed the magazine with her index. Front cover shining the garish pink of cheap lipstick. Prozzie Pink, Karen would probably call it. A woman smiling on the front cover, famous for being famous.


‘Do you even know what Babs Capri called her newborn?’ A beat. ‘She called it fucking Sodom. Isn’t that cruel?’


‘Hmm,’ said Gillian, a noise without commitment.


‘And it’s a girl. A girl named Sodom. Isn’t that ridiculous? Seriously cruel?’


Gillian didn’t really want to be involved in the conversation. She didn’t really want to be there at all. Karen had become particularly grouchy in the last few months and it made for bad company. Probably because she’d been avoiding cigarettes.


‘Anyway, Sodom is a boy’s name.’


‘Is it?’ Gillian asked, flicking through her own magazine.


‘Sodom and Gomorrah? Those two gays from the bible. Have you ever heard of a lady-sodomite?’


Gillian considered her coffee. ‘I hadn’t thought about that.’


‘Exactly.’ Karen picked up the glossy magazine again, flicking through the pages. Her free hand went to her large, round belly feeling for a kick. ‘Interesting name for a boy, though.’


Originally published in Grouch Magazine's 3rd Edition in 2015. Image by Freddy Do on Unsplash.

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