July was a 5-Saturday month. Which means in June, I was scrambling for a story. I had a few ideas but which one to pursue? One day while on a break from work, I took my daily walk down the sidewalk. There in the gutter was a phone. It was cracked and had definitely seen better days. Instead of picking it up, I left it there thinking someone may come looking for it. Of course, I took a picture of it. Then I forgot about it. It was gone by my next walk the following morning.
It hurt to open his eyes but Tony knew he needed to open them.
“Hon,” he heard a woman’s voice say from somewhere in the distance. Was it an angel? He couldn’t say for certain but he guessed that if he were, in fact, dead there would be no angels greeting him.
“Tony,” he heard the voice again. It was a familiar voice. It was his wife’s voice.
He opened his eyes and sat up but wished he hadn’t done either.
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The next morning, the two of them were on their way. It had to appear like they were actually on vacation so Tony planned a two-day driving trip. Whenever Cheyenne complained about not stopping to see something he would just say, “We only have a week.” Which was his timeline for completing the job before someone else would be sent in to clean it up. And technically, the timer started yesterday. This was day two. He should have the assignment completed by the end of day 3. That gave him a little cushion time of four days but he never liked to bank on cushion time. Best to get in and get it done.
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The very next morning, Tony went to the store to buy supplies for the trip. As he stood in line at Wal-Mart with his new phone he smiled. Did he have the greatest wife or what? She was so willing to make the trip west with him and he didn’t even need to use his full-on convincing tactics he had been prepared to use. No wonder he married her. She was simply the best. How lucky could one man be?
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The phone had seen better days. But not many. The person who saw it on her morning walk didn’t know that though. At first, she figured it was an old phone that a lazy person just tossed out the car window instead of disposing of properly. “The laziness,” she muttered.
Continue readingEvery 5-Saturday month, I attempt to write a short story. Last month’s story was called The Most Beautiful Story. Now, before you begin thinking that is a bit of a presumptuous claim on my part, let me explain. I am not claiming the story I wrote was the most beautiful. Rather, it was the pursuit of the protagonist.
Continue readingHarrison opened his eyes. It took a few moments for him to see enough of his surroundings to realize he had not, in fact, died yet. He was still here. Wherever here was because at the moment he couldn’t remember.
“Hey Pop,” his son Brian said. He held Harrison’s hand and squeezed it. “Still here.”
At this point, Harrison had no recollection of who Brian was or what he was saying. But he could feel the loving pressure on his hand and realized he was somebody he probably knew once. It made him frustrated that he couldn’t remember but there was literally nothing he could do about it.
“He’s awake,” Brian said to his sister Fran who sat at a desk at the other side of the room.
Continue readingIt was the clicking that made Harrison restless.
“Hey,” he called out from the cell he occupied. “What is that clicking sound? “
No response.
“Sounds like it could be trouble with your furnace.”
No response.
Continue readingSo, Harrison hadn’t been able to write the most beautiful story during school. Big deal. There were too many distractions. But he was confident he could belt it out at home after dinner and before bedtime. Mrs. Carrington said he could do it so he had confidence it was inside him. Of course he couldn’t write it at school. Nothing good ever came out of school for him.
He endured the mocking from the other students as he walked home. But his mind was so focused on what his story was going to be he didn’t pay any attention to the taunts. Not even Clyde’s voice, who always seemed to rise above the din, when he called out “Do you want us to call you Harrison Carrington?” And then proceeded to call him that all the way until Harrison turned to walk up his street alone.
Continue readingDid my little Christmas story sound familiar? Perhaps a few elements that you have seen before? It is not an accident. December’s short story was inspired by 1987’s Overboard. Well, I should say partly inspired by the Kurt Russell and Goldie Hawn movie. In an indirect way though.
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