Stories - Short Fiction Break

Sunlight and Snake Oil

I brought the spoon down with a loud thwack that sent bits of mashed avocado flying. A few landed on my arms, green freckles on my pale skin. I flicked them into the sink and continued my relentless avocado-smashing pursuit.

Three avocados, two tablespoons of olive oil, and a dash of paprika later, I shoved the bowl of muck into the fridge to cool and set a timer for 7 hours. It would be ready just as the sun was rising.

I tucked the torn magazine page containing the unusual recipe into a folder on my kitchen counter. I caught glimpses of other headlines as I rifled through: 12 Almonds a Day Will Let You Walk in the Sunlight!; One Weird Trick to Cure Sun Sensitivity; Local Woman Can Walk in the Light Again—Doctors are Baffled! Each with a fat red X across it.

Haywire

Dear Mr Oliver Wong-Jones,

Thank you for reaching out to Tracktastic©, the world’s leading app for tracking and personalizing all your biometric and socio-relational goals.

I am sorry to hear of your difficulties, detailed in your email yesterday, related to the temporary suspension of Tracktastic©.

I am able to confirm that the suspension is an emergency safety response to a malicious hack of our systems. Our IT team is looking into the matter on an urgent basis.

Unbound

There is no fire like the one raging through a wounded mind. The yellow flames hungrily licked the swirling darkness of Laila’s subconscious in a dance of destruction.

She dragged herself into the bathroom, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. A ghastly grin tore through her thin, dry lips. Gaunt and skeletal, she saw nothing but gloom and despair in her steel-grey eyes. The figure looking back at her was a shell of her former self, tainted gray by the agony of recent events. Time had only festered the wound. All she felt now was barren and dead. The tragic image pierced her soul. Laila took a deep breath, adjusted her hijab, and returned to her bedroom.

Whiskers

When I was ten years old, my mom and I were shopping at the mall one evening. We stopped into the pet store to look at the animals before we left for home. There was a handsome ginger tabby kitten in one of the cages. I asked if we could buy him, like I always…

Good Spirits

“So … Dorothy. I understand my uncle’s doing okay.”

“Yes,” she said, leading me down a corridor. “He seems to have taken … it … surprisingly well.”

(Almost) the Last Person on Earth

Once the virus mutated, the end came fast. I holed up in my apartment and worked my way through the Harry Potter books while I waited for the first symptoms to appear. Perhaps a silly choice for a woman my age, but I found them comforting.

The Internet was the first to go. The connection became spotty, then shut down altogether. Television followed soon after. I had stopped watching anyway. I couldn’t handle all the pundits screaming at each other, trying to figure out who to blame. And the running death count was too staggering to comprehend. Radio lasted a little longer, but one morning there was nothing but static. I shut it off and retreated to the wizarding world. When the electricity went out for good, I read by LED lantern.

The Ghost

I watched through the window as the man who killed me fixed himself a sandwich. He smeared yellow mustard on the bread and piled on layers of pickles, ham and cheese. As he took a bite and closed his eyes in pleasure, I tried to figure out the best way to haunt him.

Flavor

“Help yourself.”

“No, thank you.”

At this, Professor Donovan Lovok arched a brow. He had never known his colleague, the esteemed Dr. Ike Grant, to turn down a Bavarian tart. The good doctor had always been a bit of a glutton for the flaky pastry. He often blamed it for his ever-expanding waistline and growing waddle, usually while putting another one in his mouth. In fact, Donovan had gone out of his way to procure a box of the stuff on the way to work, knowing Ike was to stop by today.

The Horrid House on the Hill

Once upon a time there was a house—no, darling, not a haunted house, at least it didn’t have any ghosts in it. But it was a horrid house. It actually ate people! Just imagine that! A house where you walk in the front door and the entrance hall—much bigger than ours—is the mouth, and the house just swallows you up. I know, right? That must have been awful. Walking in the entrance and being gulped down, and never coming out because you’re in the house’s tummy and it’s digesting you, just like you digested that doughnut this afternoon. All white and doughy, and when you bite on it—SQUELCH! A load of red … jam squirts out. Eurgh indeed! No, I wouldn’t want to be a human doughnut either!

Should Have Waited

“Don’t wait up for me.”

Helene waved at her husband’s back as he disappeared down the hall before she closed the door of their tiny apartment. She looked around the sparse room with its secondhand furniture and nicotine-stained walls. A weak sunbeam struggled to make it through the polka dot curtains Helene had made from her prom dress, but the room was still dark.

Dark enough no one could see the tears streaming down her face.

Her grandmother was right. She should have waited for Max to graduate from college before they got married.

Eleven Birthdays

Marty was slow to wake, slow to rise on the morning of his seventy-fifth birthday. At least, he thought it was morning until he eyed the green 12:06 on his alarm clock. Instinctively, he rolled over and felt for Lori but the bed was empty and neat aside from the crumpled sheets on his side. He groaned into his pillow and listened to the quiet.

The hum of the fan, the rumble of cars a block away, his own inhales and exhales. He could almost feel the quiet house with its thick, cold walls closing in on him. He got up then, with the agility of a man much younger than seventy-five.

Freedom

Barnard peered through his plexiglass cage window. Earth was billions of miles behind, just another rock in space.

Look forward, he told himself, look forward.

Tomorrow they would arrive on Cygna. Barnard could already see himself on his new home world, free to move about, breathe fresh air, delight in new friends.

Behind Her Mask

In a shadowed corner of the hospital stairwell she sits, crumpled like a discarded wad of paper, arms wound tight around her legs to still their trembling. In time, when her fury is finally exhausted, her body will unfurl, its energy spent. This stairwell is her private refuge, where the sobs that rattle her body and cleanse her soul are heard only by the walls around her. Perspiration beads her forehead, a display of damp patchwork darkening her scrub cap. Her skin prickles beneath it, but she barely notices. She barely notices the smell of stale sweat seeping out from scrubs that should have been changed days ago, if only she had the energy to care. There is no one here to judge, but there is no one here to comfort either.

Crowds of Light

“Not that it matters anymore,” Michele said as if she were not alone. “But it is so nice out tonight.”

It was a clear night, without clouds or moon, and to avoid tripping on the rocky path, Michele pointed the flashlight at the ground ahead as she walked. As she hiked up the trail, the cold breeze that blew down the small canyon chilled the skin on her bare arms. On any other night, the black pitch in the canyon, the rustling leaves, and the scurrying sound of creatures in the brush along the trail would have frightened her. But that night, there was nothing to fear; she was calm, breathing in the crisp spring evening air.

A Study in Cashmere

I’ve wanted to do this for so long.

Gordon stood in front of the open hall closet, running his hand across the row of hanging coats, feeling their different textures beneath his fingertips. Scratchy wool, smooth poplin, the slippery impervious surface of a rain slicker. So many coats. Why did one woman need so many?

He removed his own charcoal-gray dress coat—his only dress coat—and shrugged into it, replacing the sturdy wooden hanger. From upstairs, he heard the click of the bathroom door, the ventilation fan firing up like a helicopter engine.

She was awake.

The Aisle

“Oh sweetheart, you look beautiful.”

Casey stood at the top of the grand art deco staircase, the “wow-factor,” according to the wedding planner, of Willingsbury Manor’s entrance hall. At the bottom stood her father, beaming up at her with eyes shining like his expensive new cufflinks.

Casey gripped her extravagant bridal bouquet, wincing as a thorn stabbed her hand through the itchy fabric wrapped around the stems.

Dark Time

The flashlight slipped from his hand, spinning like a lighthouse as it floated up and out of reach. It settled bulb-first against the reactor room bulkhead 40 feet above, plunging Lee into darkness.

“Touché you bastard,” he yelled to the wayward light. “But I really don’t have time for this.”

Time, Lee mused while unhooking his tether, had apparently conspired with the fusion reactor and flashlight to kill him. Over the past hour, his life horizon shortened from what once seemed an eternity to perhaps no further than this moment.

Till the Last Breath

“Next stop, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania,” announced the captain of the ship. The boat was filled with people; some were fellow classmates who attended my college. The rest were a bunch of unfamiliar faces. I sat on the edge of the boat and started reading the book that my professor gave me. I had to read a book about myths and legends for my criminal justice class. This book was all that I needed for my final exam.

FEAR

The Crow King watches on unseen as the couple shuffle through the darkening woods. The woman is carrying a bundle; the Crow King knows what it contains.

The couple stop several times to rest, the woman finding a tree stump or flopping to the ground, laying the bundle down gently beside her. During the rest, they pray. After a while, the man takes hold of her hand and helps her up, and they shuffle on.

Trash Night

For the first time in over two months, I set the alarm next to my bed. The furniture store where I worked was finally reopening, so I was returning to work tomorrow. I had planned an early night so I would be bright-eyed and fresh-faced on my first day back, but between the anticipation and my lack of a sleep schedule over the past weeks, I hadn’t been tired. I stayed up way too late watching Veep.

I was finally climbing into bed when I remembered that it was trash night. It was tempting to just skip it this week, but I had cooked chicken a few days ago. I didn’t want to leave the packaging and trimmings rotting in the cart for over a week. I needed to get it wheeled to the curb. Sighing, I stripped off my nightgown and pulled on yoga pants and a t-shirt.

The Hug

William Painton stood near the hoopla stall, scratching a circle in the dirt with the toe of his shoe. What if he could dig down in the dirt quickly, he thought, so quickly that he could jump in the hole he’d dug, cover himself with dirt and hide … and no one would know where he was … and Benny would go away and leave him alone.

“What d’you say, Painton? Hey! I’m talkin’ to you!”

William continued to draw the circle. Okay, the idea of the hole was far-fetched. But maybe Benny would get bored if he just ignored him. Yes, that was a good plan. Keep scratching the circle.

Opposites Attract, But Then What?

I stood at the patio doors, gazing at the compost heap in the backyard and trying to ignore my husband in the kitchen, as I waited to let the dog back in. I rubbed my twitchy eyelid and took a deep breath; in through the nose, out through the mouth. This was turning out to be one heck of a day.

Catfish

“Me? I don’t know. Let me think.”

Taylor leans back against the wall, raising the stool on two legs. He stares at the ceiling and the fan whirring slowly, silently around.

“I suppose you’ve got to go with pleasure first.”

The Coronavirus Diaries

Day One
This is going to be great! My boss at the furniture store said she would continue paying us for as long as she could, so this isn’t much different from a vacation. I’m sure things will get back to normal soon. In the mean time, I can clean my house top to bottom and finally get everything organized. I picked up supplies from the grocery store yesterday, and I managed to resist buying any junk food, so I will be forced to embrace clean eating. I mean, I have the opportunity to embrace clean eating. I can get up early every morning and do yoga with the sunrise. I will come out of this self-isolation thing healthier and refreshed. For dinner: chickpea curry and quinoa.

The Ides of Mulch

“Friends, neighbors, business owners, listen up. We called this meeting to discuss how to organize the neighborhood yard sale, since Karen used to always handle that sort of thing. Now that her bakery has closed and she’s no longer part of the neighborhood association, we’ll have to figure it out ourselves.”

“Good riddance,” muttered Arlene. A few other people nodded. We were all sitting at picnic tables next to the community garden, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. I bent down to retrieve a refillable water bottle from my bag, trying to hide my face for a moment. I had come to hate these vapid women.

OUTSIDE

Five minutes. After 190 long years, just five minutes to go. I think I’m going to scream, I’m so excited.

There’s Thomas up ahead. In charge as always. Thank Madiba for him. We’ve needed someone strong like Thomas, and his father, and his grandmother, and his great-grandfather. To see us through this.

Purity’s at 98% out there, apparently — flat over the last ten years. Will never get any better, the scientists and statisticians tell us. So there’s going to be a risk, but if the Council says it’s okay…

Viral

Author’s note: This story is heavily based on firsthand accounts from family friends currently trapped in the Wuhan quarantine. Heavy coat. Gloves. Raincoat. Boots. Headscarf. Mask. They say the masks don’t help, but we still wear them. Comfort, perhaps. Comfort in the familiar. Comfort in fooling ourselves. “I’ll be back, Ma,” I call out. From…

YO-HO-HO!

Once upon a time there was a pirate — Pirate Pete he was called. Actually, his surname was Potter, so that would be Pirate Pete Potter, but he never used his full name because … well, pirates don’t.

Pirate Pete was an awfully nice chap and would have given pirates a good name if he hadn’t been the exception that proved the rule. What his gentle nature did do was make the running of his vessel — the Perilous Pinnace, which is a type of ship (you can look it up) — a tricky task. The crew took advantage of him something rotten, you see, so that when it came to duties on board — like splicing the main-brace, hoisting the yardarm and swabbing the deck, boaty stuff like that — the crew would just scoff at his orders.

Happy Accidents

Dust motes floated in the air, tickling my allergies. The janitors hadn’t cleaned this old file room in years. Why bother, when no one ever came in here anymore? Except me, because my boss just had to have an invoice from 2013. As I pinched my nose to prevent a sneeze, I fantasized handing him an IRS audit notice and watching him break out in hives.

Harmony

Throughout his life, Martin had been desperately disappointed in matters of the heart; he’d had a number of serious relationships and had been chewed up and spat out of all of them. In self-defence he’d chosen a solitude that had lasted years, a blissful time of total independence.

But as he reached middle age, the spectre of a lonely end-of-life reared its head and he came to realise that perhaps he needed someone. Because he worked from home and had no social life to speak of, it was difficult for him to meet women in the conventional way, so he did the fashionable thing and dipped his toe into the on-line dating scene. In recent weeks he’d had a number of quite … unusual experiences.

Three

For three consecutive nights, Seth woke with a start. That in itself might have worried him because he was generally a sound sleeper, but the thing that scared him on the second night, and terrified him on the third, was the time that it happened: 1:11.

On all three occasions, he found himself staring at the digital alarm clock, the three red 1s glowing diabolically in the dark. On the third night he was so shaken that he got up, went to the study and switched on the computer.

Cat Food

“Can’t you shut that cat up?” Veronica asked.

Gertie was winding herself around my ankles, yowling. I picked her up and she started purring.

“Are you finally hungry?” I crooned. “Poor kitty. Let me get you some food.”

Gertie hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. We had arrived at the cabin last night, and she had gone directly from the carrier to hide under the bed. She had spent the morning cautiously exploring the space and was finally starting to settle in.

I got out a bowl and looked around for the bag of dry cat food.

Lawrence

Lawrence pressed the “prepare meal” switch and the processor whirred into action, mashing protein cubes into the paste that would be breakfast.

He left the machine working while he checked the meteorological forecast: minus 20 max, blizzards, improving over the next 24 hours. The snow had been falling on and off for two weeks now. The airstrip was covered, and tall drifts had formed on the north side of the main building.

He returned to the kitchen, adjoining the operations room, and switched off the processor. He pressed “deliver x3” and three plates rolled out of the base of the machine and onto the stainless steel bars that served as a shelf.

The Interview

“Just a few more questions and you’ll be out of the hot seat!” the interviewer said.

I bet she used that line in every interview. She was being courteous, but without much enthusiasm. I wondered how many people she had interviewed today.

I smiled at her. My face was starting to hurt from all the smiling. The chair had made a funny noise the last time I moved, so I was holding myself stiffly, but trying to look relaxed.

Relaxed but with excellent posture, that is. My leg muscles were beginning to tremble.

Six Minutes

“Mary? MARY!”

Mary gripped the side of the kitchen table. She’d been feeling so very tired recently, and now there were the pains in her chest.

“Coming, mother!” she called weakly.

Pumpkin

You sit here, pumpkin, is that okay? So you can look round the restaurant. Comfy? Good girl. Now, let’s have a look at this here menu. Hmmm. Hasn’t changed. Let me guess what you’re going to have. Chicken nuggets, right? Yes, I know you like them! Mummy did, too. So nuggets and what else? Chips? They’re not very good for you, you know. But as it’s a special occasion … why not?

Pitchfork

“Hey, Megan! Have you heard the story of the Pitchfork Killer?” Tate asked from the front seat.

I sighed and looked out the window as trees flashed past. He was driving too fast, and us three girls in the back seat were getting jostled together.

“Refresh my memory,” Megan said, because he so obviously wanted to tell the story. She was a good sport that way. She had lived here for nearly six months now, so she must have heard multiple versions of Pineville’s urban legend by now.

Steve turned around and smiled at her, adoration in his eyes. He used to smile at me like that.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Tate said in a comic spooky voice and cackled. “The local loser boy had finally had enough. He was desperate hot for the Harvest Queen, and he decided that if he couldn’t have her, no one could. He took a pitchfork from his dad’s barn and set off for town.”

INTELECTUAL

There were four playing.

The host, Adam, had made sure to sit with his back to the window, giving him a conveniently flattering glow around his head as the sun began to set behind the neighbouring rooftops. He had also placed an extra cushion on his chair, raising him slightly above the other three players.

To his right sat Alice. She was a secretary in the law firm where Adam was a partner. He called her “Wonderful Alice” at the office, attempting a play on “Alice in Wonderland” that didn’t quite work. But he did indeed think her quite wonderful and was hoping that this visit to his apartment would not be the last. Alice in turn felt a little uncomfortable — she’d thought it unwise to turn down Adam’s invitation, but was regretting that she hadn’t.

September, 1990

When I was in high school, I drove a sky blue Chevy Citation. The paint was peeling in places, but my dad assured me we could fix it. We sanded each of the spots smooth, wiped them clean with a damp cloth and sprayed on primer. While it was drying, we went to the auto parts store to get model-specific paint to match my car.

When we returned, we found that the paint all around the edges of the primer spots had curled into little ruffles.

My dad said, “Huh.”

The Boat

For a moment, Aasfa is at peace. Holding her face up to the sun and the cooling salty breeze, she shuts out the ugly sights, sounds and smells that surround her.

She is back in her village. Her mother calls from the kitchen and Aasfa skips across the dusty yard, sidestepping the family hen pecking away at the scorched earth. “Help me with dinner,” her mother says. Aasfa fetches some grey water from the well and puts a pot on the stove to boil.

Later, after finishing the thin soup, Aasfa, her mother and young brother Ali remain at the table drinking tea. Not for the first time, Aasfa brings up the subject of the boat, and as always, her mother resists the idea. She tells her mother again that her uncles will help raise the fare. Her mother takes her hand and searches her face for uncertainty. Finding only steely resolve, she reluctantly nods her agreement, eyes closed tightly against the pain of being without her daughter.

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