Short Stories
Flounder by Andrew M. Carless I threw my tackle box in the bed of my truck, chunks of rust bounced off the tire. Billy pretended not to see it. He struggled with the jumbled words in his head. He wasn’t the type to come out and ask, so he bit his lower lip and concentrated….
Each spring, the urge to plant something—a flower or vegetable or anything that would blossom and produce—pulled at her. It must have been a legacy from her grandmother who had, long ago, kept a garden of small and neat proportions.
Grace Andreacchi
The finishings on the vertical planes of the hotel’s interior. An inexpensive or moderately priced paint has been used here in the corridor, a light beige. Its smooth appearance
We told our parents we were going fishing. My brother stuffed contraband down one of his bootlegs, and we set out for the creek in the woods behind our house.
Nothing good ever came from those boots. He wore them black and with a pointed toe.
The heart shaped planchette that had once been tossed into the box along with the other memorabilia lies before me with its feet up like a dried cockroach. Yellow and brittle as an autumn leaf, it’s marvelously intact considering the age
On a night like this, he would not have been out. But tonight was different. This was an emergency. The consignment had to be delivered. He glanced back at the life-like statue covered in brown-paper. One of the antiques being shipped out. This would make his fortune the man had assured him. But the night worried him. He preferred nights to be dark and cloudy, the rain falling down in torrents, the stars hidden, the wind howling?all that ensured security guards huddled together, more than ready to wave him through.
The Birthday List by Scott Carpenter I could use some new socks. You know the kind. And maybe a pair of gloves. I wouldn’t mind a copy of that CD I told you about, the name of which I can’t recall. Perhaps a novel or two, but only if they’re actually worth reading. That’s…
A friend of mine hasn’t had sex in over three years.