#ShortShortStories

a cure for the common block

Archive for the month “February, 2014”

Haven

Sherisse tried to ignore the squawking and continue studying her book, but the little tyrant turned annoyance into an art. However, in the middle of his 5:15 tantrum about why he wanted ice cream for dinner, something strange happened; Sherisse was no longer sitting in the kitchen with her nose buried in a book, and as Dirk searched around the house, he couldn’t find a sign of her anywhere, not in the closets, or under the beds, or in the bathrooms, she had simply disappeared leaving him to his own devices. While Dirk had dreamed of this day for years, now that it was upon him he wasn’t sure what to do. Meanwhile, Sherisse sat on the roof, the one place she knew she could study in peace.

#ShortShortStories #Haven

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Second Chances

Daisy’s delicate fingers made a few brush strokes, almost finishing her second portrait of Colin; he had responded to her ad for an “unfit” nude model, which he felt accurately described his flabby frame and round face, and the money was good so he gladly returned when she asked him to do a another sitting. Although Daisy’s first attempt adequately depicted Colin, while filling in the finer details and adding the final touches she felt she failed to capture his essence, she grew fond of the fullness of his cheeks, his soft curves, even the hint of lint in his belly button; she wanted to represent him better, the lushness of his hair, the curl of his lip when he smiled, and his broad shoulders. As he left her studio that day she slipped a note into his palm and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

#ShortShortStories #SecondChances

Coming of Age

Everyone knew about the Spectre of Claymoore, the restless spirit roaming the halls of a long-abandoned school, but rumors stirred of who it could be; while so many played into the rumors and composed their own theories, Daun couldn’t help but wonder why there were so many sudden deaths associated with a single school, and why it took so long for the council to close it down. Despite never getting more than speculation about safety codes, complaints, and small-town gossip, the investigation made her aware of a unique focus she possessed, and a dogged persistence that answered the question that so many other teenagers dreaded: what do you want to do with your life?

#ShortShortStories #ComingOfAge

Justice

Lillith started her first voluntary shift at the rehabilitation clinic after fulfilling her six months of community service; she had spent her final week thinking of ways to show her respect and gratitude to the judge who substituted it for jail time, and he blushed with pride when she told him that she would continue to help children affected by gang violence. Judge Damen often gave sentences related to the crime, believing that witnessing the long-term consequences of their actions would instill a more permanent change in criminals; little did he – or Lillith – realize how her new resolution would be tested at the end of her first week.

#ShortShortStories #Justice

Lonely Among Us

Micah carefully lifted the plastic bowl, revealing the perfectly molded dome to his sand fortress, leaving just a few sculpting details to put the finishing touches on it. Using a spoon, he carved windows and doors, a moat, some “battle damage” for character, and then sat between his father and sister to watch as the tide slowly rolled in. It was a lesson for Micah and Joy, their father wanted them to understand that everything is temporary, but that just because something is destroyed, or taken away, it doesn’t change what it meant while it was still there, that their memories can’t be taken away, their happiness can’t be destroyed.

#ShortShortStories #LonelyAmongUs

Can I Get A Witness?

Ell had the family nose for trouble, and while I learned and used my inheritance to seek truth and set things right, she fell for a series of jakes who used her and abused her, and while Phillip wasn’t the worst of the notorious nine, his ties to Oliver Metulsky set him apart from the rest. I read her face like a poorly scripted horoscope and knew that if Oliver’s henches didn’t catch up to me, my best hope was a feeble restart in Tulsa, which seemed like an even-split prospect at the time. I revisited the scene and stared into the pool, trying to cast new eyes, when a low-flying plane broke my concentration; the freezer burst open, I just needed to find the right set of keys.

#ShortShortStories #CanIGetAWitness?

Return

He was heard over the hustle and bustle of Oma, and soon the bazaar merchants were cloaked in dark silence; the day had come – a day a quiet minority never believed would come – Baash had returned looming over the Temple of his namesake. The name meant many things to many people: salvation, reckoning, it was feared and celebrated, honored with blood and the patronym given to those conquered by the warriors of Oma. Baash stared upon the sprawling city for days, standing motionless and unflinching; for days everyone stammered with movement, always with an eye over their shoulder, and on the fourth day Baash sat down, behind His Temple, watching over everyone, his shadow casting along nearly every grain of sand and stone as the day passed. There Baash would remain, an ever-vigilant watcher and protector of his home.

#ShortShortStories #Return

Genius

The night before his birthday Albert found himself in a bar, and while many thought him out of place, he felt at home; he felt at home wherever he went because he had a perspective not bound by our constructs and labels, his was broader, deeper, and so a bar was no less comfortable than his bathtub. As he sat on his stool, his back to the bartender and eyes set on the night beyond the window panes, John took the seat beside him and asked if he liked stories, almost rhetorically, almost as if he knew Albert; he then told the story of a man living through history, for hundreds of years, never aging, never changing, but always moving to avoid detection. Albert enjoyed it, and asked how this man maintained such extraordinary health, to which John replied unexpectedly that it had nothing to do with his health, but his perception; “to him,” John elaborated “the world changes quickly, while to everyone else he doesn’t seem to change at all. Time is relative, you see?”

#ShortShortStories #Genius

Double Down

Winston had a Gambler’s Hand, but he didn’t have a Lucky Hand; he made the best of what he got, though he got less and less as time wore on. One blue Saturday, he stumbled into a streak in which it seemed he could do no wrong – every move was the right move -but every streak must end, even on long blue days, however his streak didn’t end with a bad flop or bad bet, it ended with the butt of a gun to his back, leading him out the door into an alley early Sunday. Nobody likes to lose and while Winston was the kind who took his losses and walked away, Fallon always won, even when he lost; in the alley on that yellow Sunday morning, Fallon and Winston both learned something, they learned that Winston didn’t just have a Gambler’s Hand, he had a Shooter’s Hand as well.

#ShortShortStories #DoubleDown

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