Short Story – Unsweetened


She wasn’t there, today. I felt the slightest of droops in my mood. I glanced back over my shoulder, through the glass of the door, hoping that I would see her hurrying across the street to get her coffee before rushing to wherever she worked. But no.

I let out a small sigh and got in line, fishing money from my pocket to purchase my own morning cup of Joe. It was Tuesday, after all, and I hated Tuesdays more than I hated Mondays, even. There was nothing like sitting at a desk for seven hours on the second day of the week, hunched over a keyboard, slowly acquiring Carpal Tunnel Syndrome during countless games of Solitaire. Continue reading

The Grass That Grows – Revised


So, it’s been quite a long time since I’ve posted on here, but that’s due to the nature of what I’ve been writing. It’s big. In the meantime, here’s the latest version of The Grass That Grows. It’s pretty different in a few key ways…enjoy!

                A single ray of light slipped through the shades over his office window and illuminated the keyboard in front of him. John ignored the minor nuisance, instead focusing his energy on finishing up one last design before he left work. It was already after five.

                In the back of his mind, submerged thoughts tasted the implications of that decision; it was after five o’clock on a Friday evening, and he was not only still at work, but was willingly so. For a twenty-six-year-old man, that was decidedly uncommon. While his conscious efforts went into placing the navigation menu of the webpage on the screen before him in just the right spot, he made excuses for that being the case. It wasn’t as if he had no friends; that was certainly not the case. If he wanted to, he had no doubt that any one of several girls he knew would like to go on a date with him that very evening, in fact. Continue reading

Short Piece #6 – Drabble


So, for fun today I wrote a “drabble,” which is actually one of my favorite types of short fiction. A drabble, as evinced below, is a story that introduces characters and tension—in exactly 100 words. No more, no less. Enjoy!

               What if I should throw myself into an adventure? I know myself all too well: shyness and a peculiar lack of curiosity are my defining traits. It would be foolhardy of me to do such a thing, and my brother would agree. Wouldn’t you, brother? Brother?

                Blast. He has disappeared on me yet again. This is becoming rote. I’m going to have to find him and bring him home, like I find myself doing so often these days.

                Off I go, I suppose. To the park, most likely, or the playground behind the school. Who knows where he has gone?

Short Piece #5 – The Lights


The following is an older story, from about a year and a half ago. It’s rather short, but I’ve always liked the end result. To celebrate the beginning of August, I thought I would post it here…

They looked at the lights.

Jason shook his head and turned his attention back to the poker table and the cards in front of him. He didn’t look at them again. He knew what they were. And they went perfectly with the flop on the table already. The jack of clubs made his pocket jacks three of a kind. Kinda like him, his girlfriend Lauren, and that other guy.

The man to his right bet. He called. Once again, the game became everything for him; the tourists gazing at the lights of Las Vegas were forgotten.

All three other players folded. The turn came out. A four of hearts. Nothing threatening. The guy to his right bet big this time, the stack of red and black chips reflecting off of his sunglasses. Jason called. It was tough to respect a guy who had to hide behind sunglasses. Sort of like how it was tough to respect a guy who kept coming on to your girlfriend when he knew she was taken.

The river: another four. Jason hid his smile, and waited for Mr. Sunglasses to dig himself even deeper into a hole. He did.

Jason called and laid down his full house. Mr. Sunglasses threw his hands in the air in disgust, gathered his remaining chips, and left the table. Jason pulled his winnings over and stacked them. It was just so easy to lose himself in poker, especially when he was winning. He simply forgot about his job and the sale on the line when his vacation was over. He forgot about Lauren and that guy who wouldn’t leave her alone even though he knew she was taken. He forgot about everything but the cards and the almost finished rum and coke at his elbow.

The sounds of the Strip washed over him as he won another hand, this time bluffing the pants off the fat blonde lady across the table. He sipped at another drink when the waitress brought it, feeling a slight burn as he swallowed. The bartender made that one strong.

Jason leaned back and stretched. As he lowered his head and started to return his attention to the table, he saw her.

It wasn’t Lauren. It couldn’t be. She was back in California. But the dark brown mane of hair looked so similar. The girl’s size four body, accentuated by black tights and a purple tank top, was identical. She glanced at him and her eyes struck him, green and brown and grey, all at the same time. Lauren’s eyes. He couldn’t look away.

Then she grabbed the hand of some tool in a polo, broke eye contact, and laughed. The two of them rounded a corner.

Jason gathered in his chips and stood up, to the shock and relief of the others at the table. He wouldn’t be taking any more of their money tonight. He would have laughed, had his mood not darkened so suddenly.

Chips clinking in his bag, Jason stalked away from the table. He intended to cash them in, but his feet led him away from the cashiers’ booths. The open exit from the Planet Hollywood casino beckoned.

Jason couldn’t get the image of her out of his head.

So he walked into the open air, feeling the warm night breeze ruffle his shaggy hair. He stood there, the flow of the crowds passing around him.

And he looked up at the lights.

Short Story – Silver Night


The black silk of her dress shone under the city lights, throwing minute glints of silver toward his eyes. He walked only a few steps behind her, flanked by two of his friends, and watched her walk. She was short; only her two-inch heels kept her from being a full foot shorter than he.

He didn’t mind.

She was beautiful. He knew it, his friends knew it, the people strolling by on the sidewalk knew it, and even those in cars flying down the street knew it. More than a few catcalls were made, and each one felt like a little jab into his stomach. She was his girl. Sort of. Continue reading