Short Story
Deference Due
The great ornate hall was filled with men beyond their prime, their finest thick suits hanging from their broad shoulders along with their ties choking them in the humid space. The quiet rumble of words was silenced by the sound of confident footsteps stalking through the door from the side of the stage, echoing through the hall. As the auctioneer crossed the stage the potential buyers comfortably resumed their murmurings, disregarding the presentation platform until the proceedings were scheduled to begin.
By Eloise Robertson 5 years ago in Fiction
The Cliff
The adults gathered near the edge of the cliff. Of the thirty boys and ten adults that had camped on the mountaintop, ten of the older boys and four of the leaders were rappelling down the face. It was a hundred and fifty-foot rappel, and they had been practicing for months. Aside from the mental challenge of stepping off a cliff, they had to deal with the logistical challenge of getting fourteen backpacks down the cliff face. The boys had redistributed a lot of their stuff to other boys in their patrols, so they weren’t carrying tents, but they did have sleeping bags, clothes and other essentials. The packs were mostly about twenty pounds or so.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
Lucinda's New Life
Lucinda stepped off the elevator into the parking garage. Her head was still spinning. She wasn’t accustomed to decisions, much less making them under pressure. After taking the envelope, Mr. Stamps had just disappeared. She’d walked out of the conference room into the office, but it was empty, not so much as a sheet of paper on a desk or a sign on the wall.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
The Debt Must Be Paid in Full
My chest tightened; it was squeezing my heart to a standstill. Every muscle in my body seized. I held my chin high, and looked serene, just as my mother would have. My steely hair up in a bun on top of my head, just like she wore hers. I look like her from the iridescent scales that run down my midnight colored shoulders and thighs to my fingers, overly long for a human with fingertips more talon than fingernail. Still in moments like these—a very human cold sweat rolls down my back. My breaths are short and shallow enough to remind me that I am not a fierce, powerful half dragon who commands fear and respect. I’m just a lone hatchling of a meager 13 years. For three seasons I’ve been running my family’s inn—the exact number of seasons that have passed since my father died of grief.
By Krystena Lee5 years ago in Fiction
the mourning before.
It was the idle times like these - with the steady sound of chopping carrots, the quiet gurgling of boiling water, the soft plop of potatoes being dropped in, the smoke curling up and vanishing - that I allow myself to remember the night we first met.
By A Baptiste5 years ago in Fiction
The Jacket
Austin stared through the neon-illuminated window at the sparsely filled tables inside. Mostly random assortments of families; overly stressed parents staring into the half-eaten burger clenched in their hands while their children squatted in the plastic booths, stuffing handfuls of cold, overly-salted fries into and around their mouths. A few booths of teenagers, each more interested in the electronic device in their hand than their food or company. One woman sat alone in the purple, plastic swivel chair of a small back corner table. Each individual item was arranged neatly on her tray and she took a bite of one after the other in a meticulously ordered pattern. He watched her, trying to imagine her life story. He decided she lived alone. It didn’t take much to see that. She had tried having roommates, but they didn’t suit her nor she them. She had been engaged once, he believed, but the guy had run off a month before the wedding leaving little more than a brief note stating that it wasn’t her it was him and that he just couldn’t go though with it. She had found out a week later that he had moved in with his business partner, a woman ten years his junior, in the next town over and they were planning on marrying in the fall. Maybe they were having a child together too. Austin decided the woman had tried to move on, going on several dates immediately after with men her mother had set her up with, sons of her bingo friends, but nothing went past a first date. She had always hoped they would call, but they never did. Since then she had kept to herself, spending nights at home with her small dog, a Yorkie, maybe a Shih Tzu, and watching obscure mystery dramas on a television she had purchased at the local thrift shop. He decided it was a sad existence. He decided she would probably kill herself before her next birthday. And, finally, he decided that he would gladly trade places with her.
By Megan Clancy5 years ago in Fiction
The Process of Breaking Free
Time spent in a kitchen is therapy and every task completed is equivalent to an hour on the couch. Bertha is past due for a long session. She plans accordingly and tells her husband they will be having a homemade Italian meal for dinner. He does not listen as usual; either that or he chooses not to respond. There is not much of a difference. Without a word in her direction, he leaves for work, not bothering to make sure the old wooden door is fully closed behind him. Bertha locks herself into her homely retreat and, leaning against the door, closes her eyes. Bertha has been waiting for this solitude all weekend and, at long last, takes her first full breath since Friday.
By Calista Marchand-Nazzaro5 years ago in Fiction
The Unexpected Visitor
Here is a fictional short story about an unexpected visitor with a twist. ... My hands molded the dough. Flour seeped into my fingernails as I turned the dough over. I placed the soft succulent mixture into a tin and put it into the oven before rinsing my hands under warm running water, drying them quickly on a towel. I drank the rest of the red wine from my glass and quickly wiped down the grey marble worktop cleaning the specs of flour off with a damp cloth. The trilling of the doorbell made me jump as my ginger head hit the saucepans hanging from the canopy.
By Denise Larkin5 years ago in Fiction
Lies and Omissions excerpt
This is an excerpt from Lies and Omissions, on Amazon for Kindle (link). It is part of the first chapter. After practice, Nick went home and grabbed a quick shower. He jogged back out to his car and headed to the Dixon house. He hopped out of the car and walked to the door. When he knocked, Sharon, Nicole’s mom, answered the door. She ushered him in and let him know that Nicole would be down in just a minute.
By L. Lane Bailey5 years ago in Fiction
The End of Us
*TW: occurrence of miscarriage “This isn’t going to work,” I say, staring at the lanes of traffic in front of us. The harsh drone of the spinning cement mixer on our truck drowns out the bustling city noise and the panic in my head. I’ve been meaning to say it for days, weeks maybe. Mitch lets out a sigh.
By Megan Clancy5 years ago in Fiction
They Whispered of Mangoes
"Celeste..." Yes, I hear you. Where are you? The alabaster sand is hot, like the moment you pull out laundry from the dryer—that snuggling, soothing warmth. The sand is so soft that it feels like silk against my soles. Free of grit and cigarette butts—pristine.
By Meredith Bell5 years ago in Fiction
