Category Archives: Fiction writing

Wake of the storm

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Rain pounds on the roof behind me, and it rushes down the  trench by the sidewalk. The sound is an  arrhythmic drum line chorus with rumbling thunder accompaniment. All day long, on and off, we’ve had thunderstorms, the leftovers of Hurricane Isaac finally blowing into town. Puddles turn into pools in my yard.

I stand in the downpour, completely enveloped. Gray sheets obscure everything, blurring familiar shapes and bringing false ones to life. I’m soaked to the skin. Wet needles plaster me down and peel me to the bone. Nothing is dry. Nothing should  be dry. The rain records me; it recognizes every crevice and pore and marks me its own.… Read the rest

Company policy

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Ed ran his hand across a day’s stubble. “What’s Frank Dewitt’s name doing on this list?”

“He’s a fat cat dinosaur,” replied Jeff, the young executive on the other side of the desk. “And that’s the first place we trim.”

“If I listed the things that have kept this company afloat for the last twenty years, every page would start with ‘Frank’.”

“Edward,” said Jeff, “Are you arguing with me?”

Ed moved his hand from his stubble to the back of his neck. “I think you forget my position is being eliminated.”

“What’s your point?” Jeff leaned across towards his employee.… Read the rest

Rip Tide

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Quinn Burgess dove down and opened his eyes behind his mask. The pretty little fish all darted away, and he swam after them until he had to surface for air. He kicked down to stand up, but his feet didn’t reach the bottom. “Swam out too far there!” he said to no one. He turned to orient himself to the shore and jerked his head in surprise when he saw how far away it had gotten. He started swimming in, scooping his hands in a strong breast stroke.

The swimming felt hard, much harder than it had felt just a few minutes ago chasing the fish.… Read the rest

Sunset on the Beach

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“Here comes the cow,” muttered Lee.

“What?” Jay moved his feet around in the sand. They were wading in thigh-high water  on a sandbar a good distance from shore. The setting sun reflected orange, promising a vivid sunset.

“She’s been watching us since we got out here.” Lee tugged on Jay’s arm.

“Let her look.”  Jay nudged a sandy lump, but it was too curved, and he sent his toes exploring in another direction.

“I just want to enjoy this vacation.” Lee pulled harder. “I’m really not in the mood for a confrontation.”

“So ease up. Enjoy the vacation.” Jay removed Lee’s hand from his arm and instead intertwined their fingers.… Read the rest

1812 festival overture

Posted on by February 25, 2020

It starts in low with the strings, sorrowful and full of remembrance. Let us not forget those dead who went before, those who fell, those who stood until they could not stand, those who never let fail. Here is their pavane. Hope and trepidation hold hands and carry out their somber bodies.
Listen to the clarinet standing alone. Listen to the battle story. The nervous thrumming strings are the racing hearts of memory. Now the brass! The first clashes build to tempestuous thunder and then collapse. But the winds rally! The theme! It is time for the theme! But as strongly as it begins, it fades away, and the orchestra waits, poised.… Read the rest

Auditions

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“She’s got potential.” Mary Dailey’s pen hovered over a score sheet. She was thinking of herself more than the young flautist who had just left the room. She remembered being fifteen with coltish nerves.

“You’ve said that about every one of them.” Her colleague and fellow judge Janet Green tapped a pencil on the table, and the third judge, Mitch Engel shook his head.

The auditions proceeded, and Mary’s nerves clamped around her wrist so she could barely fill out the forms.  Janet said, “It’s your first year. It gets better after  you’ve done it awhile.” Still, when it was over, Janet, and Mitch made most of the selections with minimal input from Mary.… Read the rest

Old man cactus

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Janine dusted under the cactus then settled it back on the windowsill. She turned to wipe the table, but whipped around when she heard a crunch. “Oh, damn.” The cactus glowered up at her from a pile of clay shards. She swept the pot’s remains into the trash and debated the future of her pointy little friend.

“You know, it’s been five years. That’s a long run for a plant in this house.” The cactus went on lowering from the floor. “I can’t rightly talk to you down there. You’ll have to come up to the table, at least.”

She got a potholder and moved the old man.… Read the rest

The Girl Under The Road

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

 

Rain peppered Crystal Rhodes. It splatted on her helmet’s visor and stung through her cotton shirt. She should have listened to her mother. But her jacket was hanging on its hook fifty miles behind her. She shook her head and more water flooded off her helmet and down her back. The rain increased to a downpour, so it was all she could hear. Even her bike’s engine was a distant roar. Water soaked through her shirt so each drop to strike her skin felt like a miniature explosion.  She dodged a puddle, then eased off on the throttle. No good hydroplaning.… Read the rest

The Power of Three

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Madame Julie used a card for a bookmark. “So you’re the fellow who won a reading at the poker game.” The young man nodded. “Sit.” She reached for her tarot deck and smiled.

 

Trifecta wants us to talk about one object with three uses this weekend. Come play with us. Or cross my palm with silver. Whichever.

… Read the rest

In the middle of the storm, in the middle of the night

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Darron wasn’t a doctor, and he didn’t have a medical background. He had a pair of hemostats and his wife’s giant canning tongs to act as forceps if things came to that. He wanted a nurse. No, he wanted the midwife. Or the doula. Or that really scrawny kid who mowed the lawn in summer.  He wanted the fucking ambulance.

“Put down that phone.” Casey stood between the bedroom and hall. She was naked. “I am not having this baby in a …”  she groaned. “Count me!” she ordered.

Darron scrambled for his watch and its handy stopwatch feature. Casey leaned into the doorframe, and he drew careful circles on her back while he counted the seconds to the contraction’s peak.… Read the rest