SHORT STORIES
I Went to the Woods
My boots lay by the door, caked with mud, one sitting upright whilst the other had tipped onto its side. Outside, as the birds chirped, the sun was shining.
“I’ll be back, ma! Going out for a hunt!”
“You better fuckin’ kill something” my fathers voice startled me.
My shoulders tightened as I turned around to face him.
“I’ll try my hardest, Pa.”
My voice shook and heart sank as I read the clear contempt in his eyes.
The Turtle and Fiddle (Illustrated)
It was a crisp fall day in Boston. Winter was coming. Eugene biked in the alleys. His guitar rested on his back. The cold air felt good. Eugene pedaled as fast as he could. He hunched over with his head bent down. He looked at the ground in front of him. Eugene swerved around people, passing cars, lamp posts, and many other obstacles. He went faster and faster.
His bike wasn’t as fast as he was. It was rusty and squeaked and creaked. He wanted a better bike but did not have enough money for one. He had pulled that one from the trash. He liked the flying hunk of junk. Eugene named it Betsy. He knew Betsy would soon be a scrap in the junkyard.
Fireworks
Corey found himself to be both bored and annoyed that he had to partake in these family “get-togethers.” Every time they would consist of a dozen or so loud children and a bunch of aunts and uncles who alternated between being overtly condescending and overly affectionate. Each year, for reasons unbeknownst to Corey, his grandparents insisted that all of their children and grandchildren assemble at their home in York Harbor Maine on the 4th of July. This year was no different.
As always, Corey’s uncle Roy carried on a monologue on how if only given the chance; he could coach the Red Sox to another World Series. Only the dogs were interested in his monologues, and that was because his podium was the barbecue grill; every once in a while he would knock food from the grill when he got worked up in one of his diatribes. At the same time, aunt Cathy who was all too accustomed to her husband’s rants took this opportunity to sneak off for a walk on the beach. Corey decided that he had had enough and it was time for him to take a little walk himself.
Uncle Hugh's Funk
Shafts of light shot through half-closed blinds like crepuscular rays might shoot through a cluster of clouds. An alarm was set on a bedside end table. It was still ticking time; set so that it wouldn’t go off for another four minutes and twenty seconds.
Neil, under bed sheets and upon a mattress beside this alarm, awoke. His 11th birthday was soon and the excitement and anticipation he had often resulted in him arising earlier than usual most mornings. With a sudden movement of his hand, he loosened the screw on the window shade. The blinds opened, shelter from the sunlight disappeared: his entire room lit up resplendently. Outside, through the window, there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky above. The side of a neighboring building obstructed the view from his window with a brick wall; however, as snow blew from the rooftops around his apartment complex, the illusion that it was currently snowing was created. It had been, after all, all week.
Dear Marlow
Dear Marlow,
The hike up to the summit of Mt. Washington was as physically rigorous as you said it would be. I appreciate you showing us the most scenic route! As a result I got some stunning panorama pictures of the various vista’s: the shots I got from Lion’s Head are currently serving as wallpapers on my desktop.
I couldn’t get any good shots till we got up to around there ‘cause until then we weren’t yet over the tree line. Being under the tree line had it’s perks, though; in the densest parts of that dominantly Spruce Fir Boreal forest, when we were surrounded by foliage, the scenery seemed pretty unreal. Ferns, moss, and rocks filled the forest floor and shaped the understory into a verdant sea that became sparse as our altitude increased. Splendid brooks serenely babbled throughout the ascent and constantly provided fresh water for our bottles to be filled up with. Every now and then we could get premature glimpses of the mountainous vistas through gaps in a needley emerald canopy that was vibrant with birdsong. Above the tree line, however, lichen, moss, and the seldom patch of mountain flowers became the only apparent flora as the rivers seemed to vanish and the scenery turned from mostly green to mostly grey. Once dappled sunrays became direct and inescapable: our only shelter from the heat became the buffeting wind.
Quarantining Creativity
A candle in the center of the table wicked as Jood sat and contemplated; the question had been asked yet again by the Abelian High Council. They always asked a question along the same lines every few generations. However, Jood had never been so conflicted: he turned on his projector machine and re-played their message.
“Major; this is high-council. Research indicates that one of the planets that you hold jurisdiction over -- Earth – is rapidly falling into critical condition… The planets health is declining at absolutely astonishing rates largely because of excessive pollution from the industrious human species. Do we now have permission to purge humanity, for the sake of the planets resources?”
