Tag Archives: Fiction writing

Sitting on the chimbley

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Elizabeth slammed a pot on the stovetop.

“Be careful,” said Lurvey. “You’ll break it.”

“I’ll break you.” She smashed down a skillet next to the pot and added oil, then turned on the burner.

“Maybe we could just eat out.”

“I will not waste money on a meal I can’t enjoy.” She hefted the pot again and filled it at the sink.

Lurvey smiled. “How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don’t ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me.”… Read the rest

Queen Bitch

Posted on by February 25, 2020

“You can’t just leave.” Diana threw down the plates and chased Eva to the door. Eva was out and gone before Diana could get into her coat and shoes. She pulled down a hat from the top of the shelf without looking and dashed into the snow.

Eva rounded the corner and Diana followed, leaving the door wide open behind her. “Come back here, young lady!”

Eva did not come back. She actually picked up speed even though the sidewalks wore a thin crust of ice. Hardly anybody was out to watch the mother pursue her daughter down the road.

Suddenly, Eva’s arm shot up.… Read the rest

Fish N Chips

Posted on by February 25, 2020

In his whole life, James Tucker had only been good at two things; frying fish and playing poker. The first kept him in a job, the second kept him in money, and neither gave him enough appeal to acquire a wife. Still, when Martine Early started waitressing at the café, the two struck up a strong friendship based in a mutual love of lures and woodsy solitude. Of course, it helped that Martine could actually hook things, where James, for all his standing in the water, only rarely made a catch.

She didn’t have much use for poker. When he went off to his tournaments and to the casinos, she would look in at the cook on duty and shake her head.… Read the rest

Amok

Posted on by February 25, 2020

The garden elephant was out of control, spraying water everywhere while Mrs. Babbity rushed to call the manufacturer.

“It’s gone mad,” she sobbed.

“Yes, ma’am. That happens to some of the older models. They forget that they aren’t in the war any longer. Just be glad it has a hose up that trunk. Ten years ago, those would have been bullets.”

“But what do I do? It’s trampled the marigolds, soaked the African Violets, knocked down the fence, and run away!”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ve dispatched a disposal team to your location. They should arrive within forty five minutes.”

“In forty five minutes, that thing will be halfway to the interstate.… Read the rest

Divorce: A Trifecta Love Story

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 

The road manager was puking in the public bathroom.

 

She had been backstage, keeping an eye on things, watching out for security hassles. And then she urgently needed air that didn’t taste stale.

 

 

Those are (almost word for word) the first 33 words of my novel Divorce: A Love Story. And if you want to read the other 73,000 or so of them,  you can always buy it in the links in my sidebar. (It’s an e-book. It’s $3, and you can read it on your PC. Kindle and Nook both have features that allow you to enjoy e-books without an e-reader.)… Read the rest

The Epicurean Epicurean

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Ralph  lived in a bungalow. “I’m a simple man; a true Epicurean,” Ralph (who pronounced his name “Rayfe”, like the composer) often said.

His sister gave him a birthday puppy. “You need company.”

“What kind is it.”

“Mutt. I saved her from the pound.”

Ralph studied the dog. “I suppose I’ll call you Sir Winston.”

He carried her around the block, then set her down inside the front door. Suddenly, a yellow puddle originated from Sir Winston, spreading across Ralph’s Epicurean hardwood floor, oozing into his Epicurean Persian rug.

“Oh my,” said Ralph. “We can’t go teetles in the house.”

 

NB: The gender isn’t a typo.… Read the rest

Flori’s New Pet

Posted on by February 25, 2020

I

 “How’d you get dry ice?”

Cal wiggled the fingers of one hand and smiled at Flori. He could have been suggesting theft or magic.

She kissed him. “Nice touch.”

Flori turned to the tables. She made sure she could see all of them from the stage, no matter where she stood. She flexed her fingers and all the chairs scooted out. She closed her fists and they returned to their places.

“Don’t test it again,” Cal advised. “They’re coming.”

“All right.” Flori moved both dry ice containers under the central table, forcing them well to the middle, lids and all.… Read the rest

Rebel

Posted on by February 25, 2020

 “You could do the job.” Charles had biceps to back up his orders.

“You could go to hell.” But Charles’ arms were twigs in comparison to David’s.

“So I’ve got to finish it?” Charles was already stripping out of his jacket.

“This job’s gonna do itself.”

“We gotta be sure.”

“He’s already dead.”

“Why you gotta be such a rebel?”

At the bottom of the trench, their quarry stopped crawling and drank shallow breaths. If either of the goons could have seen in the dark, they would have watched him cross himself and so known his heart was still beating.

_______________________________

Of course, I’m always a rebel.… Read the rest

Big

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Jack scrubbed his finger back and forth under his nose. Uncle Lew said, “Does the wee lassie want his Mummie?” in a very bad Irish accent.

“Shaddup and leave the kid alone,” said Aunt Mil. “He probably does want his Mom. Come on Jack, you can help me in the kitchen.”

Jack followed Aunt Mil through the French doors. Uncle Lew said, “What a sweet little girl he is.”

“No wonder nobody’ll marry you, Lew,” snapped Aunt Mil. “You’re a sloppy drunk and an asshole besides.” Aunt Mil shook her head. She asked Jack, “D’you want to punch down the bread?”… Read the rest

The old ball game

Posted on by February 25, 2020

Ray threw the ball, and his dog Moose bulleted across the yard in pursuit. The ball hit the garden shed and ricocheted off to one side. Just before he, too crashed into the small building, Moose diverted with a stumbling skid and shot over the ball, which bounced to a stop. The dog leaped up, spun in midair, and came down on top of his helpless prey, which remained fixedly rubber and inanimate.

From the patio, Sharee asked, “Doesn’t he ever bring the thing back?”

“Yeah,” said Ray. “When he’s killed it dead enough.”

He drifted back to sit by Sharee.… Read the rest