Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from an unnamed short story.
Here’s a snippet from an upcoming short story. Thanks for reading.
The day that my potato exploded in the microwave was an eye opener. It was a sign…an omen. A message from the powers that be. Maybe I’d nuked that fucker for too long, or maybe I just didn’t give a shit. Either way, that little vegetable bastard decided to commit culinary suicide and blew itself spud first all over the confines of the microwave with a mere five seconds left. I mean, c’mon…it couldn’t have kept its composure for a measly five more seconds? Suck it up, god damn it! I had no money left, I had no lunch, and I was hungry enough to eat the scum out of the bottom of a homeless man’s shoes. It was definitely a sign…an omen…a message from the powers that be.
Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from The Passing at Highway 10.
Below is a snippet from an unfinished short story…enjoy, and thank you for reading.
As she stood, I hurried behind her to help slip the jacket on that she’d carried over from behind the bar; it was long and red, and had a faint smell of sweet flowers and summertime. The back of my hand grazed her bare arm, and it felt warm and smooth, and my heart damn near jumped three feet out of my chest. “You ready?”, she said out of smiling lips.
A blast of thunder exploded outside with a crazy boom, and it sounded like a fucking nuke got detonated. She jumped at the sound, and I glanced outside into that swirling mess of a storm. The wind had picked up rapidly, and I thought to myself that it was going to be a slow, careful drive. I couldn’t have been more wrong. “Yeah”, I said, to answer her question, and I jerked my chair in and walked her to the door; we both flashed a wave and a smile to Jack behind the bar, and readied ourselves for the race out to the rig.
Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from an as yet untitled piece.
This is intended to be a tale of growth, understanding, and redemption…below is just a snippet. Check it out if you’d like. Best of days to all.
I wasn’t worth a damn on paper. In the paper world, the document world, the world of resumes and economic status, I was fucking worthless. Bullshit administrative work here, run of the mill labor there, hum drum office experience way over there…hell, my resume was less than toilet paper. Looking at that bad boy made me question everything. Is this what it had come to? Is this what all the years of busting my ass have amounted to? Jack shit? I may as well have been anonymous. Just another warm body to feed the greedy corporate carnivores. A chalkboard whose teachings had long since been scrubbed clean.
But clean slates can still educate, right? They can still learn. Clean slates still hold value, however anonymous they are…they can still speak of success. I had to remind myself of that. But I was never successful at anything. Well, failing…I was very good at that. I was successful at failing. Hell, at fucking shit up, I was a professional. The best. I could turn a nugget of gold into a fistful of shit at the drop of a dime. All in a day’s work.
Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from The Passing at Highway 10.
Check out this excerpt from an upcoming short story about…zombies. Read on, if that’s your thing. Best of days to all, and thanks for dropping by.
No, this was real. And it was scary. And it was happening right before our eyes whether we were ready for it or not. All our lives, we live and breathe and feel invulnerable, like no disaster will ever reach our shores…like nothing bad will ever happen to tear our own little personal worlds apart. And when it does happen, everything we’ve ever known, understood, prepared for…gets thrown out the fucking window. “Yeah, zombies”, I said again into the silence, and it broke that silence like a rock through a pane of old glass. “What the fuck was that?“, Sam whispered into the dim light, and I heard him say “Oh shit, that back door”, and he took off and made his way to the back. I told Sally to wait here while me and another guy followed Sam to the back of the place. I heard it then too…a bumping or knocking sound coming from outside the door. Maybe they were trying to get in. We all looked at each other, and slowly and silently moved our way to toward the door.
Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from an as yet unnamed tale.
Grab a drink, post up in a chair, and take a few minutes to dig into this little story snippet. Thanks for reading; let me know what you think. Stay creative.
At long last, it appeared as though they were nearing their destination; the deeper they got, the more the forest seemed to close in tightly around them, and the unmistakable rustle of the oversized jungle leaves grew nearer. Up ahead, the driver finally made the decision to ease up on the gas, and the bus began to slow its pace as the road began to narrow. His heart began to race at the anticipation of what existed outside the comfort of the bus, and as this was his first international assignment, he was eager to get his feet wet and explore.
The bus’ brakes began to squeal loudly as it came to a slow stop. They were approaching a large clearing, surrounded by the intensely rich green of the surrounding jungle. The air began to surge in through the windows, and with a shudder, the bus came to a complete halt. He glanced around the bus, and all within were hurriedly gathering themselves and their belongings, stretching tired bodies and sleeping limbs from such a long journey. She was collecting her bag, and running her fingers through her wind tousled hair; she wore a green jacket that hugged her body just right, and she pulled on a well-worn cap that rested comfortably over her eyes.
Story Time Saturday – Random story excerpts.
Just a random excerpt from an as yet untitled story. Kick back and enjoy, and thank you for reading.
The phone's ringing jarred him unpleasantly from his daydreams, and he carelessly decided against answering it. His thoughts were much more interesting than any words on the other end of the line. He looked over his shoulder at her, and watched as her hair fell gently over her eyes, and he longingly watched as she guided the strands softly behind her ear. He drank the image of her in like water, and silently admired her beauty. She was the stuff of his daydreams, and he watched her fingers delicately glide across the keys on her keyboard, beautiful hands that were very much a major player in his thoughts. Her eyes were so welcoming…the kind that you want to lose yourself in. The kind that make you want to say “to hell with the world”, and remain in forever. They were a world in themselves, a secret refuge. She caught him staring at her at that moment, and flashed him the loveliest of smiles, so inviting, so genuine, a smile that opened the door to her own secret world.
There is a hard reality found in the marbled
sinews of stone,
a bitter grain left sharp or worn smooth,
depending on its story,
harsh and stoic and immovable-
castles have been constructed using them…
foundations have crumbled as a result of them…
yet they are scattered about every trail,
every winding path,
real and present and true-
each with a story of its own to tell*