Tag Archives: #shortstory

Rotary Dial

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Rotary Dial

Kalee looks at the pink box sitting on Grandma’s end table. The battery from her iPhone 15¾ had died and she’d left the supercharger at home.  She need to call Zack and leave him a message but all she could do was stand there staring in confusion at the antique. Finally, she pick up the handset, although she called it the pink thingy connected to the swirly wire, and listened to the buzzing sound. She started calling numbers into the transmitter but the buzz continued. Next she began to push down on the number through the holes on the rotary dial. When that didn’t work she tried pushing harder in frustration. Still nothing…

It’s amazing these people survived, she thought as she stood in line waiting to pay for her new $87.45 charging adapter and cable.

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Family Business

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Family Business

The CEO droned on about recovery, new products and the future but there wasn’t enough money left in the kitty to make any of that happen.

Martin the youngest and brightest of the four brothers sat quietly, half taking in what was being said, half watching what was happening beyond the windows of the top floor headquarters. His blood boiling with every word that the imbecile his older brothers had hired spit out and hurled the length of the table his brothers and the other board members encircled.

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The Lonely Goatherd

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The Lonely Goatherd

While standing amongst his flock high on the mountainside, the sweetest sound did fill his ears.

“Yodelayhee, Yodelayhee, Yodelayheehoo!” The hair on the lonely goatherd’s arms standing at attention, his heart skipping a beat.

He began pushing his herd down the mountain and across the valley. He needed to know the angel calling from the other side.

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What the Duck!

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What the Duck!

Bobby sat at the riverbank looking at her phone when she grabbed a nearby duckling and popped it between two slices of bread.

Angelina watched in horror as Bobby started to bite down on the quacking sandwich. “What’re you doing!?!?”

To the duckling’s relief, she pull the sandwich out and said, “Research for Carrot Ranch’s writing challenge.”

Angelina shot her a confused look…

See it says, “Write a story explaining why you ate baby ducks for lunch.”

“Ummm, no Bobby, it says ‘…explain baby ducks ate my lunch.’ You really need new strategies to keep your dyslexia in check!”

Disclaimer: No ducks or ducklings were harmed during the writing of this ridiculous piece of fiction.

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Strongman Blues

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This work of fiction has been crafted as a weekly roundup to Fandango’s One Word Challenges (#FOWC) posted over the last seven days.
Content Warning: Contains implied violence, sexually explicit themes and course language.

Strongman Blues

Johnny Fingers’ leg twitched as he sat on the edge of the couch,  listening to the instructions being relayed. Always with the… Hey JF, collect the payola. Hey Johnny, deliver the product. Hey Fingers, squeeze this guy / whack that guy / dispose of the body, or whatever other trivial shit he could come up with. It was always an imposition but when the boss gave an order you did not ask questions.

His pulse quickened and the knot tighten in his gut as he texted Trinity, his side piece was going to go off her rocker when he canceled. He’d promised her a day at the beach with no interruptions. Man, the girl was stacked and looked delectable in a bikini, but she was h-i-g-h maintenance. Johnny expected to be henpecked worse than his own wife could ever muster.

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Final Moments

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This story is loosely based on real-life events in a neighbourhood in my native Toronto. Names, ages and details have been altered but the story of loss is the same. My heart goes out to the family who lives this horror every day.

Note: Please be aware of the graphic nature of the content presented.

She stood graveside, wrapped in her husband’s arms, nothing but the rhythm of the falling rain to hide the painful beat of a broken heart and the stream of tears running down her face. Today marked their 7th birthday, Amir and Sunil, her precious twins cut down as they played peacefully in their own driveway.

Nine months had passed since a sixteen-year-old demon raced through the neighbourhood in Daddy’s Mercedez Benz; completely unaware of the precious lives surrounding him as he caught the curb at three times the limit, vaulting the steel monstrosity he commanded it into the afternoon air.

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Morning Ritual

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“Where’s my textbooks? I have a test today.” Jamie screeched over his sister’s singing while grabbing her left earpiece.

“Wherever you left them, dumbo!” she shot back at a volume meant to compensate for the music in her head; playing so loud that we were all subjected to listen despite her headphones.

“Hey watch your mouth, Jeannie – – Babe, have you seen my bloody keys, I am going to be late!”

God damn it, every day is like groundhog day she thought as she responded on autopilot, “Check your coat, hun.”

When they were all finally gone she lit the spliff she’d rolled the night before and in the new quiet, pull in the same deep smoke filled breath she drew in every morning.

Holding her breath in as a euphoric wave of calm floods into her limbs; finally the world was in harmony with her.

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The Cost of Indifference

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Unrelenting darkness pressed down above the northern city trapped beneath the rubble of an intercontinental war it never asked for. Its only downfall is being landlocked between a wicked aggressor on the eastern front and indifference amongst the free and democratic societies to the west. The democratically elected government had aligned with the Western powers during the peaceful years following the Planetary Armistice of 2740.

The Eastern airforce was engaging in a campaign to carpet the rural grain and sheep farms with clusters of bombs precisely spaced to ensure maximum destruction of the arable countryside. Facing certain starvation, anger grew as it became clear that their allies had abandoned them. Sure, the West was providing stockpiles of old and neglected weaponry to shore up the National Resistance but compared to the weapons of modern warfare they were playing in the technological dark ages.

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Deep Below

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Following the loyalist insurrection, many Minos separatists were forced to toil long unforgiving hours serving Earth’s greed-driven interests.

My clan survived the initial onslaught, fleeing to the shelter of the catacombs deep below the settlement. I miss the warmth of the Minoan suns but the long-forgotten passages have proved the perfect refuge for ostracized colonists.

The therapeutic properties of the moon’s super-heated core providing us with everything we need while planning our triumphant return to the surface.

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Watercolours

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Ally looked confused sifting through the course catalog. “How in the name of God do I pick a future right here and now?”

Her Grandfather chimed in, “Think of your future as a blank canvas. It may start with some timid strokes but if you are deliberately thoughtful in making your choices and you let your heart lead you to the things that are important an image will begin to take shape. There may be obstacles to overcome and course corrections to be made along the way but as long as you remain true to yourself those early strokes will begin to bristle with confidence; the watercolours replaced with a more permanent layer. By the time you get to my age, your story will be filled with many chapters and the masterpiece you will be remembered for will have taken shape; it will be your portrait immortal.”

Firtlin’ about in her seat she rolled her eyes at him and replied, “Always with the life advice Grandpa, thanks I just need to decide between the Arts or Sciences.”

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