The cat was fat.
It was a fat cat.
Enormous and relaxed like a giant Panda on Quaaludes.
Tag: short stories
V for Victor by Tom Sheehan
I saw it all, from the very beginning, heard it all, too, every word rising on the air … in our first classroom, in church, everywhere it happened, you name the place and I was there. Unannounced it came. From the heavens it must have come, taking over his soul, his body, his mind for a few bare minutes of magic. Once, and once only, every five year like clockwork, it came on him, as if grabbed by the heavenly spheres or ignition itself lighting up his lungs from the inside. My pal Victor, classmate for 16 years of schooling, teammate for 8 years, inseparable companion, fifth year custodian of miracles that made him, for the nonce, an extraordinary singer without explanation, an indescribable tenor so gifted I have to place the cause on an element beyond us mere men.
V for Victor, dit dit dit dah, dit dit dit dah, dit dit dit dah.
Skin and Bones by Sherry Shahan
When she was wheeled into the day room, attended by her IV drip, Jack thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She seemed absolutely pure, evacuated of all evil, honed to perfection. Her head was an imported melon covered by the finest filo pastry, stretched and rolled thin. Her cheeks were eggshells. Concave. The hair on her head was shredded coconut. The hair on her body was dark and fuzzy, like the mold on Gorgonzola. Her skin was the color of Dijon mustard – that wonderful brownish tinge that comes from lost vitamins and minerals. She was everything gourmet Jack had denied himself.
The Drag Queen and The Dozen Dicks by David Henson
I met Libby through an online dating site after I graduated college. Our “In Tune” rating was exceptionally high. I tended to get nervous and tongue-tied around women, but it was different with Libby. We had so much in common we finished each other’s sentences half the time. I was so taken with Libby, I found myself growing more and more concerned about her spending time with anyone else.
Continue reading “The Drag Queen and The Dozen Dicks by David Henson”
Piranha by Roger Ley
The piranha grinned at Riley through the window of the thrift store. Yellow green, shiny, about six inches long, teeth projecting forward from the jaw bones, a personification of evil mounted on a simple rectangular wooden stand.
Fool on the Hill by Dave Gregory
I work for the federal government.
Federal.
Government.
I don’t know what that means.
Yes I do. It means pushing this broom from one end of the hall to the other ─ this end to that end ─ when it’s dark outside. Like now. I don’t like the dark, but these humming lights always work. If they don’t, I must report them to my boss. Mr. Shapiro.
Report them.
Does that make me a reporter? No one likes reporters.
Jackals. Hounds.
I hope the humming lights never burn out.
All Dogs are Singers by R. Harlan Smith
The people of the village of Dos Cruces believe every event in life is a story that teaches a lesson.
They sat wrapped in their cobijas around a quiet little fire that made dancing shadows on the Sajuaros. Cocopeli, the coyote, watched them from the brush with great curiosity, trying to think of a trick to play on them. He kept an eye on Dolores.
Wait by Julia Retkova
Amanda would lie awake at 3am, swept under blankets, watching the darkest bedroom corners twist and snap spines and smile. And then she’d get up, and start the day like nothing happened. Like she didn’t know what it was like to be beckoned, to be wanted.
Butterflies & Lima Beans by Adam Kluger
“Yeah, so this is not such a big deal…,” thought Brad Whiskerton, “who really cares if Campbell’s Vegetarian Vegetable soup in a can (obviously) decided to do away with lima beans in their soup? (according to the back-label’s list of ingredients).
Week 176 – Piles Of Ironing, Blind Reads And How Much I Hate ‘I Just Called To Say I love You’
I’ve been thinking on how much we reveal within our writing.
I don’t mean this to be insulting but I think those that read can’t always spot something personal, whereas for those that write, it can be pretty obvious.
I will not be as crass as giving out examples but what I would say is that most of our writers have on occasion shown us more of themselves than they would probably admit. If anything is questioned, we all hide behind the ‘It’s a story’ argument.
