The Spy With the Yellow Hat Goes to the Library

Standing in the tight space between the front seats of the van, Ted used the rearview mirror to examine his appearance. “I hate this. I look like a moron,” he said as he fussed with the knot of his yellow and black polka dotted tie.

“Can’t help how you were born,” Ruben said with a smile.

“Please, I look good. It’s this damn outfit,” Ted retorted.

Ruben typed on his keyboard and the three monitors in front of him came to life. “The boss says wear the suit. You wear the suit. That’s how it goes,” he said.

Bot or Boy

Bailey picked up his pace when he saw that Eli was already seated on the steps. Although he’d never admit it, this was his favorite part of the day. Handing out towels at the welcome desk at the gym was monotonous, and going home to his one-room apartment was isolating, but lunch with Eli was engaging and fun. He felt like he was back in school, hanging out with friends and goofing around, before they’d all been sorted into their assigned professions and sent their different ways.

Eli was already partway into his vitamax sandwich by the time Bailey sat down. “You started without me?” Bailey complained.

“Yeah, sorry,” Eli said, his words blunted by his full mouth. He took a swig from his water bottle and said, “I had my quarterly check-up last night and they cut my calorie count again. They said something about my blood pressure getting to high, so I was starving by noon.”

The Divorce Choice

Sarah nervously picked the paint off her nails. There wasn’t much of it left. She’d painted them two days ago, the first day of the hearing. Now only small spots of paint were left on a few of her fingers.

The lawyer in the grey suit and red tie sitting across from Sarah sighed. “I know this isn’t easy, but the judge has left it up to you. You need to decide.”

Sarah thought about how the judge’s face had turned red as he’d lectured her parents. “You’re both a disgrace and if the law would let me, I’d take everything you have and leave you both sitting in the gutter,” he said in a booming voice. The angrier he got, the more the vein in his temple throbbed. Sarah thought it might burst when he stood, wagged his finger at them, and yelled, “You’re the most selfish, self-centered, arrogant, ignorant, contemptible people I’ve ever had in my courtroom.”

I said, “I’m Leaving You.”

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I tell you I’m leaving you, and you can’t think of anything to say?”

“It seems like your mind is made up already.”

“It is.”

“Then what’s there to say?”

Closing Arguments

Good afternoon gentlemen and all you lovely ladies. I would like to begin our time today by thanking you. Thank you for not pre-judging me by my appearance. I know that I am a squatty, no-neck, square of a man. My nose is too big and my forehead is too large, and I’m too stocky to be anything other than a plus-sized model. No one’s putting me on a Wheaties box anytime soon, am I right? My accent is too thick and often leads me to be stereotyped, but only by people less fair and wise than yourselves.  I know all of my shortcomings. I wake up to them every morning. Can you imagine? Waking up to this in the mirror. It’ll make you crap your pants. Anyways, I’m under no preconceived notion that you will be charmed by my appearance.

So thank you. Thank you for being honest, decent people without a prejudiced bone amongst you. Thank you for hearing me out with no preconceived notion based on my appearance or upbringing. As my Uncle Joey would say, “You’s are clearly good peoples worth breaking out the expensive china for.” Am I right? Oh, I’m right. And thank you.

Running Scared

Melp’s chest burned with pain and his knees ached. He wanted nothing more than to stop and catch his breath.

“Keep running,” Balamack screamed. Even though the taller and more powerful Conculos had been running with Melp for the past ten minutes, Balamack wasn’t visibly winded. “Keep running or they’ll catch us,” he yelled again. “This way,” he said grabbing Melp’s arm and pulling him to the right.

Melp shivered as they pushed through a large crowd of people all traveling in the same direction. While his stomach pains and the dizziness had finally passed, he was still uncomfortable with the constant movement and unstable nature of Reality.

Melp hadn’t seen the Gracanjo. Balamack had spotted them over a mile back and the two Conculos had started running for their lives. Melp hadn’t looked back since the chase began.

Fickle Desires

Josh looked out at the long line of customers and then down at the clock on the cash register. “Only five more minutes until break,” he said over his shoulder to Todd.

“Yours or mine?” Todd said as he sprayed whipped cream onto a fancy-named drink that was basically liquid chocolate.

“Mine,” Josh said. He took a patron’s money, placed it in the register drawer, and handed the patron a receipt.

“Don’t you even think about leaving until that line dies down,” Todd said.

Jorinda and Jordy

Jordy bit his bottom lip. As he’d approached the quadrangle ten minutes earlier, his palms had begun to sweat and a knot had formed in the base of his throat. He knew that this was his last chance. If this didn’t work, nothing would work, and he would have to kiss his true love goodbye.

The quad was filling with students. They came in small groups, laughing and chatting. It was a beautiful night for a show. Most wore solid color t-shirts sporting Greek letters. The stars burned bright in the clear Texas sky making the tall iron streetlamps almost irrelevant. Jordy wondered if, from the stars’ perspective, the gathering of so many students in solid color shirts looked like a splotchy rainbow. The thought made him smile. He couldn’t help but wonder if things would have turned out differently if he had joined a frat.

“Hey bro,” a boy said from behind Jordy.

Wednesday at the Cemetery on Pot Spring Road

Alex swung open the door of his car and stepped into the mud. “Damn it,” he said as his patent leather shoes sunk into the wet ground. Shaking his right foot and then his left, he tried to kick the mud from the shoes with no success. He grumbled with frustration, reached back into the car to get his briefcase, closed the car door, and walked to the decorative black gate. Looking up to the sky he said, “Why can’t I have an office like everyone else in the world? A nice desk. A comfortable chair. Maybe a secretary to answer the phones. Is that too much to ask?”

Pushing open the black gate, Alex stepped into the graveyard. The cemetery contained a little over four hundred headstones. Some were large and decorative, others were simple. Some were worn by weather and time, others were new and untouched. Despite their varying appearance, they had the same basic information: first name, last name, date of birth, date of death, and maybe some small saying or scripture reference. When Alex first started doing this work, he used to love walking the rows and reading each one, but now he barely noticed them.

Marshall and the Man at the Table

Marshall was aware of three things: the complete absence of moisture in his mouth, his raging headache, and that he was still wearing the clothes he put on the day before. He eased up onto his elbows and looked around the room. Even though everything was dark, he was home. He was on his couch in his living room. His breath tasted of vomit. His back ached. He groaned and pressed on his temples trying to remember how much he’d had to drink.

Trying not to rattle the contents of his stomach, Marshall gingerly sat up. He let his head fall toward his knees and rubbed his eyes with both hands hoping to wipe away the fog. Sighing, he decided he needed to find out what time it was. He couldn’t tell if it was early morning or late at night or somewhere in between. He grouped the coffee table looking for his cell phone, but he came up short.

“I’ve got it over here,” a strange voice said.

Mark and the Magical First Date

Mark opened and closed his hands, stretching his fingers. His palms were sweaty. He didn’t like it. He stopped at an abandoned store front to examine himself in the reflective glass. Pulling on his beard with his right hand, he wished he were better looking. He sighed at the bags under his eyes, his messy hair, and his wild whiskers. Why had he decided to wear plaid? He looked like the skinniest lumberjack in the world. “Too late to do anything about it now,” he said to himself and he continued on.

The bar was crowded for a Tuesday night. The tavern was small. The bar had room for twelve and then there were the fifteen or so two to four top tables. Mark scanned the room. All the stools were taken and most of the tables were filled. There was one open by the door, but Mark knew if he took it he’d be cold and uncomfortable all night, and he wanted tonight to be different. He wanted to give Anne his full attention. He considered just standing at the bar. She would probably be more comfortable there. No commitment that way. If she didn’t like him, she could just excuse herself and not have to worry about ordering food or anything.

He heard his name and looked to the back corner. Anne already had a table. She was smiling and waving to him. Mark swallowed, rubbed his hands on his pants, and crossed the room to meet her.

Mark and the Magic Candy Hearts

Mark examined the white package he’d found on his doorstep that morning. He shook it and listened to its contents rustle around inside. He sighed, laid it in his lap, and looked at the sign above his head. Three minutes to the next light rail train. He knew she would call any minute to see if he’d opened it yet. She always called at this time because she knew he was on his way to work and she assumed he had nothing better to do but talk to her.

He looked at the box again and then at the sign. Still three more minutes until the next train. He hoped maybe the train would beat her call. If he were on the train when his phone buzzed, he could tell her it was rude to talk on the phone in an enclosed space like a train car.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. There was no train in sight.

Two Friends in a Fountain

“This is stupid,” Cheryl said as she watched her friend Marci take her shoes off.

“It’s not stupid, it’s going to work, and I need you to get behind me on this,” Marci said. Her toes felt cold on the marble walkway. Cheryl smiled as Marci picked from between her toes the blue lint balls left by her socks. For Marci, everything needed to be perfect. Marci folded her socks and placed them in her right shoe.

Cheryl took a seat on the lip of the fountain next to her friend. “You do know this is all a big con, right?”

Marci smiled. “The magic gypsy woman said,” she started.

The Stake Out

Menken was sure he was right. He’d studied his wall for hours last night, trying to predict the next move. All signs pointed here. “Well, not here, exactly,” he explained. “But definitely to her.”

Rosie sighed, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a hair band. “I thought you were being ironic when you said you wanted me to join you on a stakeout. I thought we might get dinner or something. Maybe catch a movie. I should have known better.”

Finding a Godfather

“Vinnie. I know you’re desperate. But this guy?” “My son needs a godfather, Tony.” The two friends stood in front of a formerly beautiful house. The three story Victorian mansion had been the pride of the block before the war. “But this guy?” Tony said. “Come on. I mean. This guy.” “Yes, this guy. He’s…

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Break Time! Flash Fiction Challenge

It’s time for another Flash Fiction challenge!  See the prompt below and give us up to your best work in the comments.  We look forward to reading how your story unfolds. Write no more than 300 words that finishes this story: Molly collapsed onto the sofa in despair. With a sigh, she said, “The problem is,…

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Short Fiction Break News!

There is a lot going on with the Short Fiction Break Regular Contributors. Here are some things we think you might want to check out: Ann Stanley’s new book is here!   Bella’s Rebellion is a wonderful collection of 13 short stories. Don’t miss your chance to get a copy of this fantastic collection! To order a…

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The Crossword

“One across. The hurdle to pass before starting a project. Four letters. Abbreviation,” Kelly said. “No good morning?” Ian asked. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs to watch her. Kelly was sitting at the kitchen table. Steam rose from the large mug of coffee that stood within reach of her left hand. In…

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May Theme Week

Hello SFB Readers, In November, we launched our first-ever Theme Week. This is one week per month when we publish 3-5 posts around a specific theme prompt. Themes are always focused on current events and/or seasonality, but with a thought-provoking “twist.” For our May Theme Week, we have several Regular Contributors scheduled to publish, and we are also…

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8 Reasons You Suck

“Reason number one,” Stacy said. “You don’t have to do this,” I protested. The bar felt warm and humid, maybe from the body heat of the crowd, or maybe from my anxiety. She sat across from me at the small two-top in the middle of the room. Her journal was propped up in front of…

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SFB NEWS

There is a lot going on with the Short Fiction Break Regular Contributors. Here are some things we think you might want to check out: Kelli Stuart’s first novel Like a River from It’s Course is available for pre-order on Amazon! The novel will be released in June by Kregel Publications. Here is the book…

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The Soccer Game

The young teen watched his teammates laugh with one another. He didn’t understand why, but the sound of their gaggling infuriated him. “I was proud of you today,” his father said as they walked toward the car. “Thanks,” he replied. “You played hard.” “Yeah,” the teen said. He couldn’t stop watching his teammates. They walked…

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Short Fiction Break News!

At the first of every month, we take a quick break from sharing short stories to talk about what is happening in the Short Fiction Break community. Events in the writing lives of our Regular Contributors and Alumni are below. If you are an SFB reader, we want to know what is going on with…

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Like Father, Like Son

“What did you think of that last one?” the father said to his son. “I don’t know. It was good.” “I can’t believe he’s still here. When I was a sophomore we used to have this rhyme for him.” “I liked the video clip he used.” “Lester, Lester the grade point molester. The man who…

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READERS' CHOICE AWARD!

Although the Becoming Writer Anniversary Contest ended a week ago, we’ve got one final prize to award, the Readers’ Choice Award. We took the judges top 15 picks, asked readers to read them, and then vote by leaving a comment on the story. The competition was fierce. 369 votes were cast. Several stories were neck…

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Mencken and the Community Meeting

The basement of Saint Jude Thaddeus Catholic Church was a large square room with a grey concrete floor and white, rectangular ceiling tiles. The florescent lights buzzed. The room was full of round tables, which were filled with anxious neighbors. The air was muggy and thick with anxiety. Mencken sat in the back, between two,…

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SUBMISSIONS ARE LIVE!

We are excited to announce that over 160 stories from the Becoming Writer Anniversary Writing Contest are live and waiting to be read on Short Fiction Break! Go check them out. If you read one you like, tell the author in the comments. Click here to see the list of stories.