“You should’ve just popped in, Mathis,” Mrs. Kelly says opening the door. “You know we’re waiting for you. Come, come.”
“I never like to presume, Mrs. Kelly,” Mathis says entering the small home. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Category: Short Fiction
Week 97 – Franklin, Harold And Specific Pages
I had mentioned to the wonderful Leila Allison in a comment about how you always remember the first time you hit a ball over three hundred yards whilst playing golf. That got me thinking about ‘Book’ firsts. I hope that these cause you to think back.
Continue reading “Week 97 – Franklin, Harold And Specific Pages”
Post by Tina Parmar
Gus is barking his tiny brown head off, Mr. Thomas must be near. Gus came along four years ago, a pint-sized wolf in mongrel clothes. I glance down at my flour-dusted trousers and open the door a crack to greet Mr. Thomas. But I see it’s not Mr. Thomas, but a stranger. I quickly slam the door, hoping that he hasn’t seen me. There is a violent crashing sound as the mail is forced through the letterbox. Gus chokes himself trying to grab the hand, but he’s too late. I finally let him go and he gives me an angry scowl. I probably shouldn’t have slammed the door, but you never know, better safe. Lock the door. Check. Locked? Locked. Locked? Locked. Final check: locked? Locked. It’s locked.
Tea Man by Patty Somlo
We meet every morning in the coffee shop next door to the hotel. There’s Zia, with his three shots of espresso and who knows how many packets of sugar. Ali takes his coffee with plenty of cream. Aqmed orders one of those fancy drinks with an Italian name I wouldn’t dare try to pronounce. Every day something different. “What is it today?” Zia always asks Aqmed, as if there’s something a bit too girlish about Aqmed, a man who doesn’t drink his coffee black and strong. Then, of course, there is me. Omar. I am a tea man.
Waiting by Fred Skolnik
She sat in the chair waiting. Let it come, she thought. I am prepared for every eventuality, and when it comes I will not be surprised. Nonetheless, she was tense, apprehensive, alert, and when the doorbell rang her blood froze. Now, she would say. Here it comes. She tried to hide, inside the room, inside herself, but still she heard the sound of the doorbell like someone screaming in her ear. She tried to make herself smaller and smaller and sometimes even fled to the farthest corner of the room. The farther away she was the less she felt the threat. Sometimes she turned her face to the wall and began to count, ring by ring, and if the ringing did not stop began to mumble words of entreaty or supplication.
Turkey Burger Deluxe by Adam Kluger
Melvin Mudlicker sipped his coffee slowly as he worked the numbers on a napkin at his fifth favorite diner.
Circumstances once a week brought him to this part of town and he had grown fond of one of the attractive young waitresses who always asked how he was doing, how his business was doing and if he wanted his coffee refilled or if he wanted his usual, a turkey burger deluxe with fries, hold the pickle and tomato.
They had developed a nice rapport, rhythm and flow together.
Exposed by James Hanna
He was a tall sheepish gentleman in his late fifties. His eyes were gentle, his chin was weak, his shoulders were starting to stoop. His legs were thin and wobbly, his hair was thinning and gray. And he walked with the hesitant stride of a crane, his head bobbing forward with every step. Watching him amble along the street, one would never guess him to be an artist. A servant, perhaps, a beggar more likely, but not an artist: a soul unencumbered by earthly snares and committed to only the Muse. But an artist he was, and no mere artist at that. He was an artist in the most gallant of mediums: the daring realm of street performance.
Week 95 – Nipples, Clowns And Balloons
Everyone of us has a favourite book and no-one else might agree and that is perfectly fine.
For pure perception on growing up, Stephen King’s ‘It’ was the only book I have read as an adult and it reminded me of being a child with a child’s logic. If memory serves me right, the book is around 1300 pages. All those words are a story around one simple idea:
‘For every adult who thinks up the legend of the vampire, there is a child who imagines the stake that can kill the vampire.’
Week 93 – Winners, Losers And All Story Tellers
Hi folks, well here we are again. Week 93, who would have thought? Well, probably everyone who read week 92. So no surprise to a dozen or so!
This week I noticed a cracking piece of story telling. Mrs Clinton and Mr Trump were both exceptional. They tell stories, expect you to believe, you vote on those beliefs, they ignore their previous stories and continually tell you others. Then after two terms you hear more stories from someone different. It is a wonderful time of the year.
Continue reading “Week 93 – Winners, Losers And All Story Tellers”
Billy by Hugh Cron
Billy was upset that no-one spoke to him.
“Hi Billy, how’s your mum?”
“She’s fine, fine, she’s fine.”
“And how about you? Are you behaving yourself?”
“Yes. I’m doing fine, I’m fine, fine, I’m fine.”
“Tell your mum I was asking for her.”
“Yes, yes, yes. I’ll tell her, yes.”
literally stories 