short stories

Breaking Up

Some women deal with their break-ups by drinking wine, some surround themselves with friends and plot how they’re going to let the air out of their ex’s tires. Me, I’m celebrating with a giant bag of Doritos, a bottle of Coke, and a horror movie.

Jeremy was not a nice guy. He started out okay, as most guys do. Why else would I have dated him in the first place? But as time went on he started in with the digs about my weight. We’d be in bed and he’d squeeze my hips and say things like, “That must be the pizza we had tonight,” or “Have you been sneaking chocolate bars again?” I ignored it for the longest time. But eventually it wears on a gal.

Nope, I’m glad Jeremy’s gone. And now I can sit here with my Doritos and not have to deal with the insults. The fact that I burned off a load of calories burying his body in the back yard makes me feel all that much better.

#SoCS – Bridge, a Hallowe’en Story

Taking the Bridge to the inner city is like driving out of fresh air, into the pits of Hell. The Bridge itself is lined on both sides with grills, jails if you will. At the outer edge, near the freshest of air, are the criminals who live, still. But as it gets warmer toward the middle of the Bridge, one can see the prisoners are fighting for air. Zombies, treading upon one another with clubs made of loose bits of the Bridge torn off are closest to the inner city.

Why must we travel there, to the city? For work. The luckiest of us still grow our vegetables at the far end of the Bridge. For meat, we must go to the city. That’s where the brains are.

socsbadge2016-17

This post was written entirely in Stream of Consciousness, and left unedited. If you, too, would like to participate in Stream of Consciousness Saturday, click the following link to add your post! https://lindaghill.com/2016/10/28/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-oct-2916/

Transformation – Part 2

It has been two days since my precious laboratory burned to the ground. The final spark to go out, did so when the wisp of smoke finally ceased rising from the top of Ogor’s head.

Patients L52 to N2 escaped with their lives (such as they are) with the exception of the poor Patient L63. Ogor is trying to blame him for the blaze, but I blame Ogor. It was he who caused the error in the first place. I must now decide what to do with him.

Hmmm… N3, perhaps.

Transformation – Part 1?

Today we take off the bandages. Patient L63’s transformation should be complete.

“How long has it been since the patient came to us?” I ask my assistant.

“Forty-three days, Master.”

“Would you please stop calling me ‘Master,’ Ogor?”

“Yes, Mas… I mean Doctor.”

“Thank you. So, forty-three days should be enough, right?”

“By your calculations, yes, Doctor.”

“Okay, let’s get at it.”

We peel back the bandages slowly. Meticulously. About half-way through I notice Ogor has begun to tap his foot.

“Whatever is it, Ogor?”

“What’s what?”

“You seem nervous.”

“Not at all, Doctor.”

We continue to work until there is just one bandage left across the patient’s face. As lift it with my tweezers, the patient opens his blue eyes.

“Wait!” I exclaim. I go to the patient’s chart. “Patient L63 has brown eyes. What is the meaning of this? Ogor, double-check the patient’s toe tag!”

“It’s um… It’s um, Patient M63, Mast… I mean Doctor.”

“But this patient isn’t ready! And Patient L63 must be chomping at the bit to get out!”

Just then, a groan came from inside the freezer.

Tiny

I only knew Tiny from the Internet, so I couldn’t tell for sure if he was really tiny in size, or if his name was one of those ironical-type names. If so, he might have been huge.

Tiny and me were friends in the kind of way you just sling comments back and forth on Facebook and such. Once in a while, we’d say something like, “We should get together for a beer one day,” but it never happened. At least I don’t think it happened.

You see, Tiny disappeared ’round about a year ago. He’d taken a break from the whole online crap for a couple months before, so I wasn’t too worried, until one day when a stranger showed up on his Facebook account. At first they tried to pretend to be Tiny, but I knew. There were little things, like the way words were spelled right that Tiny always spelled wrong. Stuff like that. When I called the character out, they finally said no, they weren’t Tiny and that Tiny had died.

Then three weeks ago, I found the note in my mailbox. It was from Tiny. Said he’d been in town for a month already. It’s a small town; chances are I’ve seen him around and not known it.

Strange thing is, I never told him where I live.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Beautiful

“My mom is old,” said Billy as he plowed his truck through a pile of sand alongside the curb.

“My mom is ancient!” said Tommie. He ran his car head-on into Billy’s.

“What are you boys doing?” asked Tommie’s mom, coming up behind them and scaring both.

“We’re just talking about how beautiful our moms are,” answered Tommie.

Tommie’s mom smiled. “You can keep that up.”

Tommie shrugged and his mom walked away.

Angles

“You’re all angles. One minute you’re here and the next you’re 180° the other way. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Well, I’ll tell it like this: once you’ve spend a year underground doing various things for a drug overlord…”

“A what now?”

“You heard me right. A drug overlord. Why else would I be underground?”

“Oh I dunno. Digging a tunnel for a subway maybe?”

“Is that what you thought I was doing all this time? The railroad is my life!”

“But you said…”

“What? That I was digging a subway? What else would I be doing?”

“Were you digging northward or southward?”

“Eastward.”

“Right. Westward it is.”

No Trust

Lisa had been led to believe that when her ailing rich uncle finally passed away, she would receive a trust fund until she reached the age of twenty-five. Whether it was because he died before he had a chance to place a restriction on her inheritance, or he never meant to in the first place, would never be known. All Lisa DID know was that in the space of a day she’d gone from packing her work lunches in brown paper bags, to being able to quit her job and live in luxury.

Although walking away from the daily grind at the office was tempting, she decided not to. Instead, she kept her job and bought a house on the posh side of town. Right next door to Roland, the flashiest, most eligible bachelor within a hundred miles. In Lisa’s opinion, it was the only drawback of the whole deal.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. In the tags below, you’ll see the genre I’m considering for the above story. Feedback is welcome.

Fire

It started and ended with a candle. If foresight had told me you’d burn down the house on my thirty-first birthday, would I have fallen for you that fateful night at Stella’s Steakhouse and Grill?

Just the fact that we ever got together was a miracle. My date–Lester? Leonard? I can never remember his name–and I were sitting by the window and you and whats-her-name were across the aisle. All through dinner I admired your profile in the candlelight. When you weren’t turning to gawk at me, that is. I recall feeling so sorry for her. She noticed the attraction between us. Lestard was oblivious.

It wasn’t until later that night as we walked along the boardwalk in the moonlight, hand-in-hand, that you told me you’d been on a blind date. I lied. The fact that I was engaged to a guy whose name escapes me tells me even now that you and I were meant to be. For whatever reason.

Author’s note: Until October the 31st, I’m going to try to use this space to create possible beginnings for my 2016 NaNoWriMo project. Feedback is welcome.

Original

“There are no original stories under the sun,” said the alien, as she sat upon a sea-sprayed rock.

“That’s a rather narrow view,” said the sea serpent.

The alien shrugged. “It’s true.”

“Well then,” said the sea serpent, “why don’t you go talk to the accountant in my belly?” And the sea serpent ate the alien.

“Hello,” said the alien, once adequately digested. “You must be the accountant.”

“What was your first clue?” asked the man, looking up from his adding machine.

“I assumed you were the only one in here.”

“I probably am,” said the accountant as he went back to his work.

“The sea serpent and I were discussing stories, and how there is nothing new. Do you agree?”

“No. I think there is everything new, just as there are always new calculations to be made.”

“Would you two shut up already?” came the booming voice of the sea serpent.

“But you told me to discuss it with my new friend here, Mr…”

“Mr. Blankenship,” replied the accountant.

“How unoriginal,” said the alien.

The accountant only smiled.

***
This post is prompted by the Daily Post, and Tuesday Use It In A Sentence, where this week the word is “narrow.” Click on the word above to check it out!