Jamie sat staring at the typewriter. He reached over toward the on switch, but hesitated. He stood up, turned away from the desk, and walked to his closet. He pushed back the wicker folding doors and searched the high shelves, pushing aside a tin (that may or may not have been filled with marijuana), some magazines that he preferred when lonleiness ( Read more... )

He felt despair. As much as he would have liked to label it something else, it was just that - despair. The dump truck in front of him kicked up a rock and it bounced off the windshield leaving a small star shaped crack. Tyler reached up and rubbed his thumb over it. He cold feel the cold of the windshield, and underneath the pad of his finger, he ( Read more... )

Jamie couldn't help it. Once he saw the typewriter, he knew he had to buy it. He had stopped using his American Express card (because that debt proved near fatal), but having a debit card was even worse. He calculated the price of the Selectric, the amount of his check coming at the end of the week, and found that all in all, he would still have at ( Read more... )

Since I seem to have a rash of short, untitled and unfinished stories, I decided to post ideas hoping to get feedback from those who read this (all one of you) on if I should or shouldn't pursue ( Read more... )

When his wife opened her eyes, Zach found that he didn't know what to say. They stared at each other, him to the right of the hospital bed, she in it. He sat on a plush chair that sunk in when he sat in it. As he moved, the leather upholstery crackled beneath his bottom. His wife shifted her gaze away from his; she looked across the room at the ( Read more... )

It's note easy being dead. I mean, REALLY not easy. It's hard to get someone's attention, especially when you need it. But you make do. You find ways. You knock over a coffee cup (which is really draining); you slap a wall; hell, you talk to the dog. The interesting thing about death is that when you talk to the dog, the dog talks back. Seriously. ( Read more... )

Horace Mann switched the bags of candy from his right arm to his left so that he could reach his keys and unlock the door to his apartment. Winnie, his shepherd, greeted him at the door, her curly tail moving in large, sloping arcs. She barked at him and moved backwards, her eyes on him, her face open so that she looked like she was smiling ( Read more... )

Just from looking at him, Roy Tanner got the feeling that Henry was the type of man that, when you shit your pants, would stand there and hand you a tissue. He didn’t like him. The way he walked - a slow, meandering swagger that suggest confidence beyond what all could see - made Roy uncomfortable. He had been involved in these deals before. Knives ( Read more... )

Talking had never been one of Stephen’s strong points, but he found himself able to keep talking, to keep the words flowing, even as the sound of the chain saw grew and fell. The top of the evergreen shook, dusting snow off in a small shower. Some of the flakes fell down the back of his neck and melted. He felt the first chill of winter seep ( Read more... )