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Category: Short Story

Short stories are where I put down my ideas for bigger stories. Bigger stories tend to be formed from one brainstorm that I have (commonly at a spontaneous point in the day, then later developed). The short story section is where I can just post the ideas that I get. They are subject to edit.

Museum Misunderstandings

Museum Misunderstandings

Standing in the Natural History museum, two people (Person A and Person B) are viewing different displays. Nearby, a large group of students are chattering, filling out papers for school, and pointing at different displays. A: Did you see that– B: Dinosaur? Yeah, there’re a lot. A: They’re a lot of what? B: A lot of them. A: I meant the whale. B: Which wall? A: There’s only one. B: How’s that possible? A: It was born, I guess. B:…

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Everything

Everything

What if everything you’ve ever read was something that was secretly about you? Every news article, email, ad, all aiming towards you and intended to be about you. What if the person next to you, supposedly just typing on their keyboard, is writing about you, hoping that you’ll read it? What if I’m writing about you, hoping that you’ll accidentally look over my shoulder and notice? I’m just hoping that you’ll just look over and say, “Wow, what great writing!”…

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Night Swimmer

Night Swimmer

By now, I bet he’s dead. At least, I hope he’s dead. The man who seasoned my cups of tea with garlic and who left his paychecks at the piano– yeah, I hope he’s dead. I was getting sick of his knit white turtlenecks stained with what I hoped was ketchup and his little purple Fiat stained with the same color on the ceiling… But at that point, I think he was sick of it too. I hope he’s dead….

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Reach

Reach

I don’t usually question things. Usually. Because usually, I’m sitting at home. Alone. With my dishwasher screaming in one room and my washing machine thundering in the other. With the sunlight blinding me and my chair binding me, I have no reason to leave my computer screen for “the great outdoors”– what’s so great about it anyway? Just another high-res screen-saver with movingClouds.gif? Oh, and the sun coincides with the time. That’s nice. Not. Worth it, anyway. I can put…

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Objection

Objection

“Objection,” Council whispered. “I beg your pardon?” “Objection,” he said louder, his chair sliding out from under him as he stood up. “Objection, your honor.” “Well, what is your objection, Council?” the Judge asked. “My objection? Well isn’t it obvious, your Honor?” the Prosecution asked. “Obviously not,” the Defense said, stepping away from the witness stand. “So please clarify your objection during a direct examination.” “Well,” Prosecution trailed off, walking slowly out from behind his table. His hands caught themselves behind him as…

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Dearest

Dearest

Dearest Johnathan, I hope this letter finds you well. It seems as though all the letters I have sent previously had made no progress; but one must not let the angel fly far without wings. Noella’s success seems to be less because of her own intelligence and more because of her husband’s, but that is neither here nor there. Her child will grow up rich and away, and I suppose that is all that matters. The Western front is not…

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Funeral Tissues

Funeral Tissues

It never occurred to me how many tissues are kept in a funeral home. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands, always stocked and ready to be re-stocked when ever someones comes by. Funeral homes are so specific. What other place is so specific to one situation that everyone knows exactly what’s going on right when you step into the room? Maybe that’s why I work there, because of the certainty. Because nothing else is so certain as someone walking in. Because…

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Eye Stones

Eye Stones

I don’t know why I thought so, but it was all breathtaking. Every place I thought I already knew in my motherland was seen in a new light, a new bright light, overtaking any other memory that tried to push its way to my attention.  “We’re headed to the College,” they said, and I thought nothing of it. I knew my parents wanted me to go there, for sure, to have a solid job and a solid life, everything set ahead…

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White

White

White was too pure for me, even then. I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t take the fact that if something- anything– touched the wall, then it was ruined. The whole thing. Because you can’t paint over a white wall. The spot you paint over, if you do, will look newer. Whiter. Some kind of different shade of light grey that you didn’t intend to see. And I can’t deal with that. I can’t deal with the brightness of the color, either….

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What Do Theorists Think Of?

What Do Theorists Think Of?

She was laying on her back, her hair splayed all over the main deck. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Clive asked, looking nervously over the railing. “But of course we are,” the Theorist sighed, rolling on her back to pull herself upright. She hugged her knees and looked over at him. “Don’t you think so? I’d like to think so.” “What a strange thing to say,” Clive said sarcastically. He gripped the rails too tight, the Theorist could…

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Coffee Talk

Coffee Talk

I tapped my coffee mug impatiently, my gaze lost on the greenest grass outside. “Where do you think words go when you burn them?” Arabella paused. “…What?” “You know,” I said, taking my fidgeting hands off the hot ceramic. I put them into a tight ball. “When you.. burn them?” I left my hands pull apart and gently fly up into the air before falling back down in the same fashion. “Poof.” “Why are you burning words? Oliver, are you…

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Just Beyond June

Just Beyond June

“I could sit here forever,” she said. “I could just sit here forever.” “Could you?” I muttered, hugging my knees. “Could you really?” “With you?” she smiled brightly. “Of course.” The sun burned. It burned my face, my skin, my heart, my soul. It burned to the deepest core that it could reach and back again, filling me with a haunting type of warmth. My only defense was to wish, to pray, for the cold, for the dark and the…

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The Perfect Murder

The Perfect Murder

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION.   It’s a curious thing, isn’t it, that as quickly we come into the world we can be taken out. A piano, a puddle, a lake, a knife, a sledge hammer– one moment we’re walking, the next we’re walking the Stairway. But what’s even stranger about our predicament is the person behind it. It can never be solved. It can never be heard of, and it can never be redone. The knife has to be…

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John

John

There were thousands of islands. The curve of the Earth did not limit the expanse of the water nor the innumerable islands. Each one looked hand-crafted, if anyone were to have such large hands, and seemed similar, but not exactly the same. I tilted my head, reaching my hands out, just to feel the salty air atop my own island. On this sandy getaway, I had a single, leaning palm tree, and a few of its fruit children. There used to…

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The Streams in the Desk

The Streams in the Desk

“Write it all down?” the Professor laughed, his head tilting back in an almost unnerving way. “All right, suppose we do. And yet, you and what quill, dear Writer?” “The one that I always keep in my pocket,” I said quickly, whipping out just that and letting its plumage spread out slowly, like molasses, through the air. The Professor considered my quill before responding. “And so you have. I shall, then, supply the writing desk, shall I not?” He turned…

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The Legacy of the Search

The Legacy of the Search

He looked different this time. Perhaps it was the music, or perhaps it was the city streets, but something about him was different. His hair was neatly quipped, slightly brown, slightly black, slightly questionable as to whether or not it was brushed in the morning. His glasses rested comfortably on his nose, a home they knew well. His bright, illuminating, brown eyes seemed enlarged by them, housed by them, welcomed. His whole face was a finely tuned machine, ticking to…

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Cut Short of Sympathy

Cut Short of Sympathy

it’s not that I don’t want to see her, it’s just that I can’t. I mean, I really want to– for as w a t e r   —-s, I expect its return until the day it comes. It’s always the last day. —l –l -a f So as she stands there, on the ——————————————————————————————————————————————edge of the forest, adorned in a white dress cut short of sympathy, I wait. I wait patiently, mind you, for I wait until the sun…

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Records

Records

No one believes me when I say that I live in music. Every move that I make is to a certain beat and time stamp, depending on the mood of the room. In my kitchen, I’m listening to light pop, in the living room there’s an orchestra, outside there is a choir. Downstairs there’s ball room dancing, in the attic there’s a sock hop and in my bedroom there’s country. In the hallways I hear techno and in the foyer…

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Wall-y

Wall-y

The stories they tell are the best I’ve ever heard. They’re scary unnerving unhearable unbearable unheard of speechless. Their word are simply a jumble of sounds; of noises, of white noises that glow in the blackness dark of the house. I brought a lantern one time. It didn’t help. There was a sudden surge of wind and it blew it all out; electricity and all. Someone tried to take a photo but failed to capture the most important part of it…

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