Posts Tagged ‘short stories’

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Postmortem

In Fiction on April 3, 2013 at 1:33 pm

Various_scalpels

Postmortem

“You come here in the middle of the night and tell me you were dead yesterday, Sean. What am I supposed to think?”

“Think scientifically, Charlie,” I said, and I sat on the table. “You’re a doctor, after all.”

“I’m a coroner.”

“Even better.”

Charlie sat on his stool and eyed me carefully, his gaze drifting to the crimson-stained X on my chest.

“Three to the ticker?”

“Yep.”

I peeled back the tape and let my heart pump its congealed refuse onto Charlie’s floor. If he hadn’t believed me before, he sure did then. Read the rest of this entry »

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Make it Rain, Nana

In Fiction on April 2, 2013 at 10:52 am

English: An origami flower made of multiple te...

Make it Rain, Nana

“I wanna thank you all for coming out here on this somber occasion, ya know? For coming out here to celebrate the life of a terrific lady.

“My nana, Margaret O’Shaunnessy, was the sweetest old woman in the world. She always had a caramel or a hard candy in her pocket for the kids, and she was generous as hell with her money, am I right? A real standup broad.

“Those of us who were fortunate enough to know her best got to witness a real rebirth toward the end there. When Grampa Charles left us—God rest his soul—Nana went through a pretty tough time. But then she discovered this passion, you know, this zest for life she never knew she had.

Read the rest of this entry »

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X Marks the Spot

In Fiction on March 30, 2013 at 10:11 pm

duct tape

X Marks the Spot

The thing about being dead is that it hurts like hell. When you come back, I mean, like I did, the wounds that put you down are still there­—they just refuse to heal.

In my case, it was the three bullets that shredded my heart like Christmas morning wrapping paper. And—all those clichés about broken hearts aside—there was no way I could forget the woman who’d done it to me, not with the searing fire that tore through my chest every time the old thing went thump. So when I got back to my office, I filled a crystal tumbler with Glenmorangie and kept at it until the pain subsided. Read the rest of this entry »

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A Riddle

In Fiction on March 28, 2013 at 10:44 pm

oil hurricane lamps in a kitchen

A Riddle

“Two eyes that never blink.

Four legs that quiver.

Sixteen bodies still and cold as death.

What am I describing?”

Mr. Carken stepped into the light and fixed Sean and Jake in a wild stare.

“The answer?” he drawled. “Two nosey boys who’ve found something they weren’t supposed to find.” Read the rest of this entry »

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A Curious Woman

In Fiction on March 26, 2013 at 10:40 pm

test roll #3

A Curious Woman

Pietro Barbino shuffled quietly into the Duke’s great room and, finding it empty, smiled and turned to leave.

“Stay, Pietro,” a voice said, and a slender figure appeared in the doorway at the end of the room. It was the duchess, in a crimson silk gown that brushed the tops of her bare feet and clung tightly to her Read the rest of this entry »

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Cultivation

In Fiction on March 20, 2013 at 11:29 pm

horse with hose in mouth

Cultivation

“Well, you can lead a horse to water, but—“

“Finish that sentence, and ‘drink’ will be the last word you ever speak, David.”

Dave eyed the horse, smirking.

“I’m just not sure what’s wilder, man, the fact that you’re watering the grass or the fact that you’re talking to me about it.”

The horse dropped the hose and raised its somber, wizened eyes. Read the rest of this entry »

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Patient Zero

In Fiction on March 19, 2013 at 10:54 am

bridge river rapids whirlpool

Patient Zero

No one chooses to be born.

A few choose to die.

Fewer still choose to live.

Mark had come to the bridge to choose. But instead he’d ended up perching on the rail like some weary crow, a coward, waiting for the buffeting winds to make the decision for him.

“This is all there is.”

Cruel words for a mother to speak to her son, but like it or not, he had heard them. And in the weeks and months that followed her death—which had been slow torture enough—the words turned in him and writhed like living things, with teeth and venom and terrible hearts. Read the rest of this entry »

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A New Occupation

In Fiction on March 13, 2013 at 9:21 pm

Zanzibar sunset

A New Occupation

The algae bobbed in the water, deep crimson and ragged, as if the gore of the fighting—the blasted bits of men lost to the war—were riding in upon the tide. Damian spat and looked across the bay. Far afield, lit by the setting sun, men worked the rigging and walked the decks of the warships, readying them against the rising wind.

“Tabor’s no war vessel, boy, so if you’d rather ship out with that lot, get yourself cut in half by cannon fire, now’s the time to choose.”

Damian turned to find a man watching him, bespectacled, with a scraggy beard and bulging paunch. Read the rest of this entry »

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Leo’s Escape

In Fiction on March 1, 2013 at 3:10 pm

A Home-made car

Leo’s Escape

“Gee, thanks…”

Leo had been asking his parents to buy him a car for months. Nothing fancy, of course—he didn’t need a Ferrari—just something to get around in. He’d begged and begged, ingratiating himself, playing the good son, doing humiliating chores, but all for nothing.

Or so he had thought, until his father unveiled what he surely believed to be a terrific joke: a homemade jalopy, with rusted doors, salvaged seats and a shifter made from the head of a piston.

But suddenly Leo saw the car for what it was and whispered with utter sincerity:

“Thank you.”



This is my quick response to the Friday Fictioneers prompt this week. Click the blue guy to check out the other great stories!

Happy weekend everyone!

Related: The Hideout // Silence // The Pebble

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The Hideout

In Fiction on February 21, 2013 at 9:56 pm

Old barn and white picket fence

The Hideout

“This is it?” Sam asked. “This is the hideout?”

The barn was slumped like a beggar, rotten planks buckled under creeping ivy. Tendrils choked the yard, climbing the bright white fence like swarming snakes.

“Isn’t it great?” Jake asked. “I’ve found loads of cool stuff: bottles, bones—even a knife.”

Jake started toward the back, where a hole gaped black and jagged in the side, and beckoned Sam to follow.

“Don’t you wonder, though?” Sam asked. Read the rest of this entry »