Posts Tagged ‘short stories’

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The Pebble

In Fiction on February 16, 2013 at 12:33 pm

FF-DavidStewart

The Pebble

My house is in the south by a river, far from the DMZ. At night, the river reflects the moon and the walls seem bathed in water. When my grandson wakes me, which is most nights, he is like a mirage.

“Grampa,” he says, “I had a bad dream. I dreamed I turned into a rock and fell into the river and drowned.”

“I dreamed I was a pebble in your pocket. I dreamed you dropped me but you didn’t see.”

I roll to the wall and squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I move further south the dreams will stop. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Feeling of Falling Down

In Fiction on February 4, 2013 at 9:08 pm

Yellow wood, by yooperann on Flickr

The Feeling of Falling Down

“Sometimes I feel bad, man. I mean, this was a sleepy town before I showed up.”

Quinn popped a shell into the chamber and ran the action forward with a click.

“White churches, brick sidewalks—the foliage is beautiful, man. I mean, just look at it.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

Quinn gestured to the body under the tree—what had been a man—and shrugged.

“I already done it,” he said. “So it’s nothing to me. But you may be right.” Read the rest of this entry »

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Words For Things

In Fiction on February 1, 2013 at 9:29 pm

Sculpture-copyright-claire-fuller

Words For Things

In my earliest memories I am alone. I grew up without language, without names for the rocks and trees. Without a name for myself. I have never seen another human face.

Strange, then, this thing I have made…

I found the boat, and the tools and the books—that is how I learned the words—but I cannot say how it passed the seas, for there was no one to guide it.
Read the rest of this entry »

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Al In Wonderland

In Fiction on January 30, 2013 at 9:36 pm

Sunbathers in central park

Al In Wonderland

“What on earth are you reading for, Lou? The sun is shinin’, the birds are chirpin’ — the ladies are sunnin’ in their… scanties. Two-piece suits and everything, Lou. Lou?”

“Al, shut it! I’m readin’ here.” Lou flapped the pages at him.

“No need to get bent out of shape, Lou, I’m just worried you’re not enjoying yourself… what are you reading about, anyway, your period?”

Al laughed, but Lou didn’t look up from the book.

“Whatever,” Al muttered. “…sitting under that tree like some eighteenth century fop…” Read the rest of this entry »

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The Waiting Water

In Fiction on January 25, 2013 at 4:48 pm

Island ocean

The Waiting Water

As day wanes the ocean turns black. The brackish foam boils on the rocks. The sun sinks and its crimson rays leak from the horizon as from a wound.

There is something appalling about the sea. About its mystery. I believe it is evil.

My friends drink and laugh. They sunbathe. They sleep with each other and collect designer labels. They forget the waiting water. Read the rest of this entry »

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A Fitful Sleep

In Fiction on January 23, 2013 at 12:15 am

Purple sunrise in the Kaluts

A Fitful Sleep

The rising sun set the desert alight, like a torch touched to tall grass in a dry summer. Caro felt the hooves in the ground long before they sounded on the breeze.

“They’s comin’, Jess,” he said.

Jess had been having a fitful sleep, but at Caro’s call he stumbled from his bedroll and began to dress.

“Gon’ be a hot day,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. “Just as well they come.”

“How’s that, Jess?”

“Gon’ be a hot day and we ain’t got any water left.” Read the rest of this entry »

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For The Birds

In Fiction on January 18, 2013 at 12:09 pm

Empire State Pigeon (photo credit ZeroOne/ photo on Flickr)
(Photo credit: ZeroOne / Foter.com / CC BY-SA)

For The Birds

You can wheel through the sky and skewer the clouds, or you can spend your life low and leave your mark (if you know what I mean).

Just remember: It’ll eventually rain.

This is in response to this weeks Trifextra challenge in which you’re given a prompt and asked to write 33 words on it (the photo being the prompt this week). Read the rest of this entry »

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Idle Hands

In Fiction on January 14, 2013 at 10:26 pm

Playing cards on the pavement (Pinar del Rio, ...

Idle Hands

“Goddam kids are back, Harry.”

“I noticed…”

“Goddam kids are back and making trouble again, idle little turds. Where are the parents, eh? Don’t these kids have jobs no more?”

Harry sighed and glanced at his cards. The game just wasn’t the same without partners. He discarded a king.

Albert eyed him suspiciously.

“You leading me? I know you’ve got five more of those.”

Harry shrugged and Albert drew two.

Read the rest of this entry »

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Double Bass Concerto

In Fiction on January 11, 2013 at 10:59 am

2 Double bass in a locker

Double Bass Concerto

The body slid down the wall and sat, silent, without the thrum of its heart.

No one had missed the soloist yet. The double bass concerto was planned for the second half of the program: Giovanni Bottesini. Concerto No. 2 in B minor.

A shame, really… it would have been beautiful. Read the rest of this entry »

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Day 375

In Fiction on January 7, 2013 at 4:37 pm

Forest, view from above

Day 375

I dropped my journal into the river this morning.

It was swept down the falls as I washed myself, and when I searched the pools it was not among the rocks. I took it badly—I will not pretend otherwise. Yes, I wept.

The journal was my only record, the only thing approaching proof. I awoke in this forest. I have been here—alone—for 374 days. I have seen no one else; I speak only to myself. Read the rest of this entry »