Stories - Short Fiction Break

Suppose It Were True

Jeremy sat very meekly with his knees together. He clutched his notes and tried to look as though he was behaving himself.

The professor was still cross about Jeremy’s over-enthusiastic ingress, which had upset his umbrella stand in a spectacular manner. “When you graduate, Mr Davies, your patients will expect you to walk into their room, not galumph. And preferably without breaking things. Psychiatric patients do not appreciate being startled so unceremoniously, especially the bestial ones. You do know that they are more sensitive.”

“Yes, prof. Sorry, prof.”

Thunder rumbled and the professor sighed. “Today of all days you have to break my umbrella.”

Walter the Wonder Dog, part 2

We were sitting in a hotel room in Garden City, Kansas, when my mom noticed the weird bump on my dog’s leg. Walter was sprawled on the bed next to me, snoring, and barely stirred while we examined the bump. It was an angry pink, about half the size of a penny, and on the inside of his foreleg a few inches above his paw. I had no idea how long it had been there.

I tried not to panic, but my mind immediately leapt to cancer. And it had to be a fast-growing kind, or I would have noticed the spot before then.

Bread and Dripping

“We had a hard life in them days, we did.”

My brother and I rolled our eyes as Uncle Alf cranked open the floodgates of his memory. Again.

It was the same every Christmas. My mother felt it her responsibility to invite the old boy to ours; we were the only family he had left, at least living locally. He was the husband of her long-gone sister, Philomena. He lived on his own now, retired and constantly sick, trundling towards the closing credits.

I kicked Billy under the table and giggled when he yelped. Mother shot us an I’ll-be-talking-to-you-later kind of look and smiled at Uncle Alf, encouraging him to carry on.

After Goldilocks

In the middle of the woods stood a cottage that had, once upon a time, been home to three contented bears. But late one summer, poor Mama Bear got sick and died. Papa Bear and Baby Bear continued living in the cottage, but it seemed to grow a little shabbier each day.

One dreary suppertime, Baby Bear looked sadly at the ruins of his chair lying in a corner of the room. There was a hole where the seat used to be, and one of its legs was cracked. It had been broken by that lump of a Goldilocks who’d sat in it to gobble up his nice dinner. Papa Bear had promised to fix it up, but he hadn’t done it yet.

Not the Gift of the Magi

It didn’t have to be this way.

I put a couple of tiny dots of glue on the safety band before I screwed the cap back on. That way Ray would think he was breaking the seal when he opened the bourbon. I inspected the bottle for sediment, then gave it a vigorous shake.

I carefully washed and dried the mortar and pestle before returning them to the back of the cabinet. My hands only shook a little bit.

Of Bananas and Coconuts

“Have a banana!” said the owl, handing one to the monkey.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said the monkey, peeling it expertly and stuffing it into his mouth in one go.

“Lucky the wind’s dropped, eh?” said the owl.

“Mmhhrrwwffmm,” said the monkey, chewing then swallowing hard.

They were sitting in the shade of the tallest coconut tree in the district, in fact the only one for several miles around.

“Brought my tree down, it did,” said the owl, a tear coming to his eye.

Heartbreak

“Remember our first time here?” Louise asks, lifting the glass of wine to her dark red lips.

Timothy looks around the dim, practically deserted pub.

“How could I forget? Same old furniture, I see.”

“Good memory.” Louise licks her lips and places the glass back on the table. She looks around the pub too, and when she returns her eyes to meet Timothy’s, she sees that he’s been staring at her. She drops her gaze to the table and begins to play with a little patch of wine that spilled from her glass when Timothy brought it from the bar.

The Drawer

Before bed every night, Lorena cleared her mind.

She took the memories from her head and sorted them. The white ones were the newest ones—short-term. From these she removed the unimportant baubles—the taste of the egg omelet she had for breakfast, the Top 5 List from the local pop radio station, a blue blouse the office receptionist wore. She put the ones worth keeping aside—the annual report from the CEO, the lunch date with Daniel, and the names of the two new sales reps on the fourth floor. These she would put back later, where they would stay and slowly darken in color, becoming long-term memories to be kept safe.

Come Apart

Georgie was seven when he decided to disappear.

He’d told his friend Tommy at school that he was going to do it one day, just up and come apart and float away, never to be seen again.

Tommy, always serious, had looked at him with his beady, red-rimmed eyes and had simply stated, “That’s impossible. People can’t just float away,” and had gone back to digging. The hole Tommy and Georgie had been working on was slow work, especially since they’d carried the dirt away in their pockets, not wanting to leave a mound for a teacher to find, but Tommy said they’d eventually dig a tunnel out of the schoolyard and they’d escape forever.

Georgie had rubbed his dirt-stained jeans and said, “We could spearmint.”

All There Is

“You don’t have to do this,” Garrett said.

I smiled, looked into his eye and said, “Yes. I do.”

He placed his hand on mine. I felt the warmth radiating through him. He tried to wrap his fingers around mine and draw my hand into his grip, but I pushed my palm into the hard seat. I didn’t want to hold his hand. I didn’t want him to hold me back.

“Macey,” he said. “No one expects you to do this.”

“I do.”

“It’s too much.”

“it’s all there is.”

The Talisman

A cold spring rain falls softly as she sits on the damp curb skirting the asphalt drive. She should have grabbed a blanket, not that it matters. She is emotionally anesthetized most of the time and too tired to care. For the umpteenth time, quitting crosses her mind, especially after she loses a patient. Three died this morning.

Meditation sometimes helps her unwind. She reaches into the depths of her heart, seeking a spark of nostalgia to recall the last time she laughed. Pictures and sounds of joyful exuberance with her family at Christmas fill her thoughts. She closes her eyes for a few moments in remembrance.

Times Infinity

The sun spilled over the horizon from the east and scattered light over the water’s surface until it hit the white cliff wall in an eruption of sea spray. One hundred meters up, situated near the cliff’s edge, the windows covering the sprawling house glowed pink and gold. The other side of the house overlooked rolling hills covered in towering pines becoming increasingly visible in the rising sun.

Josh walked through the expansive parlor and kitchen, passed by the fireplace and lit a fire with a snap of his fingers, then walked out onto the deck overlooking the water. It would be fantastic, Josh thought. If it wasn’t so typical.

The Bridge

Philip flexed his stiff fingers against the worn leather steering wheel as he drove through the gray November morning. The heater in his station wagon was out again.

The repairs would cost more than the beat-up Buick was worth, too much for his public school teacher’s salary.

“I ought to call Lisa,” he told the icy windshield. “Make her pay.”

A Choice to Change

Rainy nights were the worst.

Jake stuffed the towel into the frame of the leaky window. There, that should do it. He flopped onto the peeling vinyl seat of the ancient chair. He’d naively assumed that when he graduated the rehab program, the world would open before him. But six months, ten commandments, and twelve steps later, he was still haunted by the ghosts of his past—especially on rainy evenings.

Life With No LENS

My first glimpse of Elliston, Missouri is from the back of a Sikorsky Tonkawa, the elite military helicopter reserved for special ops. Riding in such a craft—like visiting Elliston—is an honor not normally afforded to members of the press, but the recent resurfacing of anti-LENS propaganda has sparked curiosity about places like Elliston, making it possible for me to get my visit approved.

From the air, Elliston looks like any other rural American town. Automated cars populate its roadways. Buildings of all sizes line Main Street. The town appears to be both prosperous and charming, the kind of place you might like to visit for a weekend away.

You’d never know it’s actually a prison.

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.

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