Tag: short story

a christmas miracle

An erotic mirco-story for mature readers.

i walk around the wrapping paper trip mines that dot the path from the living room to the bathroom when i see the lights on the street from the basement window, pull up, then shut off. i knew who it was. my phone goes off in my pocket. just a sec, gimme a minute, will you? i offload the most eager of waste while my mind rattles-off a mile-a-minute, my erection throbbing against the inside of the toilet seat. i use a wet wipe then give my girlfriend a kiss. she sits on the couch in a half-baked eulogy to the evening, her phone in her hand while the last few tracks of the christmas cd play from the stereo. i’m going outside for a smoke, do you want to come? “no, i’m ok here.” that’s great, you stay here. you look very comfortable. i don’t. “you don’t. everything ok?” everything’s fine, i just need to go outside to smoke up, calm down. “what do you have to be uneasy about? it’s christmas!” she takes my hand from just inside the radius that allows her to reach from her seat without moving, and pulls me toward her. she kisses me. it’s sloppy, and i miss her lips and peck under her nose in the fervour. “are you sure everything’s ok? you just seem off.” i’m fine. my phone goes off again. “someone is really trying to get a hold of you.” i know, it’s probably Dad, you know i tried him earlier and he didn’t pick up. “well hurry back to me.” i will. she has said her peace, but she still knows that something is up. she isn’t stupid, and i’m easy to read. i kiss her once more for extra reassurance before robing myself up for the storm outside and venturing forth, around the side of the house from the basement suite entrance to the street out-front, where i can see the darkened silhouette of a figure in the car parked out-front. i can recognize that hair anywhere. and she put it up for me, with a little poinsettia scrunchy that enunciates her flawless smile and red lipstick. i kick the snow off my boots before getting in to the passenger side of the car. hi. “hi.” she starts the ignition and pulls away, waiting for the last minute to turn on the headlights.

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the dress

A micro-story for mature readers.

where did it come from?
how did she get it?
was it a thrift shop find? a hand-me-down? new? at one time or another? he never asked her, and preferred to be led along by the mystery.

he assumed it was forged in the fires of some ancient volcano, by slaves to an oft-held tenet. bandana-clad, their sweaty muscles glistened against the reflected light of the red-hot lava, weaving each fabric by hand. real work, no chit-chat. all the while the ground was in a constant state of convulsion, no one standing evenly, the infernal lake spitting. hundreds of casualties. but an ever-rotating assembly line of devotees, worshippers to the cause, the fashioning of this edifice to one day adorn its true, rightful owner. in truth he had seen it in a shop window of his youth, on display to the world like Excalibur before King Arthur. this was twelve years prior, wandering around downtown in an adolescent slumber it graced a model far slimmer and gawkier than the reality was to be. but as the boy took the moment offered from that day to stare at the mannequin and bask in the implications of its teen-aged fantasy, he knew that this would be it. this was the dress that his love would wear, whether or not he had to be the one to buy it for her. he remembered the cross-street, the landmarks, the number on the curb, “come on, we’re going to miss the show!” and the dream retreated to folklore for the first time.

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the rules

A micro-story.

the birds chirped through the cracks of the storm shelter high in the old blue, the dying light in the sky that had been getting dimmer and dimmer these passing years how many had it been, the count on the wall was given up on long ago the cave paintings of line etched into the crumbling foaminess of earth around it the whole foundation was beginning to fall apart like this, in clumps of liquid soil that seemed to run like waterfalls around them. they were all hideously deformed, infested warts of incurable sizes sieged their naked bodies preventing free movement they lay all six of them in a mesh of diseased flesh on the floor keeping warm with what little energy they were permitted from, feasting on each other, gnawing like children to the binky to the point of piercing skin, their gummy mouths and underdeveloped teeth sucking and coddling to what little blood remained. the sun was dying this much was true, days were dark and nights were darker but they knew never to leave the safety of their shelter, that what the world was once is gone, that the tainted air through the slits in the shelter door were what caused their mutation. why would they ever leave now? what could the world offer but a curiosity before certain death? no, generations had been taught the rules.

//jf 11.11.2020

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saturday in the park

A micro-story for mature readers.

i dont know whats been happening in my life lately thirty six and divorced two kids from different men im sitting in the park on a warm saturday afternoon and the sun is beating down relentlessly hottest february on record i can feel it too sometimes you cant sometimes the skies are blue and its minus seven i tilt my sweaty brow back and forth in the light to make sure im covering every angle some tan might be nice ive always wanted to try tanning not spray tanning thats cheating but maybe in one of those ultraviolet coffins people always tell me im too pale what are they talking about ive got these rosy cheeks my ex always used to comment on my cheeks said it was my brightest part wait a minute he was an asshole thats right i always have to stop myself when im reminiscing like this i dont know whats been happening in my life lately

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fred

A short story.

“A middle-aged Chinese man’s well-oiled weekend plans are repeatedly-hampered by karmic intervention.”

I don’t want to hear another word about it! Now just get it done! They were almost thirty-feet separated and Freddie was screaming like it was a First Aid emergency. Rogelio wished it was a real emergency: like something had snapped and crushed Freddie, even in the forklift. Like a beam: a big beam would break from the rafters – like an act of God – and fall and land at just the right angle to impale Fred through the open roof of his lift, and then he wouldn’t be a problem anymore. Rog recused himself before he fell down that depressive rabbit hole and ruined the rest of his shift: he wasn’t a young man anymore and couldn’t be bothered playing a young man’s game. But here was Fred again: driving too fast and too close for comfort off the main drag where the lifts were actually allowed. Rog put his head down and concentrated on his work, pretending not to notice as he knelt on old knees to pick up the product for stocking. But Fred must have felt Rog’s energy, because he screeched to a halt beside him, leaving barely-enough room for him to get off and down to Rog’s level. Well, not really: Fred was only five-foot-four. What’s your problem, Rog?
Problem? No problem, buddy. Rog was flustered & gasping for air, and trying his best to be diplomatic.
There’s something going on and I don’t know what it is. But I don’t want it to become a regular thing, OK?
What are you talking about?
Don’t think I haven’t been watching you. You’ve been frustrated for the last few days. And I don’t care what happened to you at home, just don’t take it out on me, OK? I’m trying to help you here.
Rog took a deep breath. …Fred, I’m very busy, OK? I don’t have time for your accusations.
I’m not accusing you of anything. What I’m saying to you is, you need a better attitude.
Attitude?
Your behavior! It sucks! Your work effort, too! You only have an hour left and look at how much you still have left to do!
OK OK OK, can you leave me alone now, please?
What, are you trying to get rid of me now?
Yes! I told you I’m busy! You dropped too much again! Now please go away!
I know that you’re busy, and I don’t like over-dropping any more than you do, but it’s what Kathy wants. That’s your job, right? To do what your manager wants? Not what you feel like. I just want to make sure that you know, that I’m working in your best interest, here.
Best interest? What are you talking about, best interest? You think that by making me stock all this heavy stuff so quickly that I’m not going to be paying the price tomorrow?
Oh, so you can call in sick again? That’s typical.
That’s your fault, buddy! That’s what I’m saying to you, man. You never stack any of the smaller pallets so I have to bend down so far to pick everything up and it hurts my back! You never put any of my short-stacks in steel and make me condense everything! And now there’s an hour left in my shift and I still have to finish the moves and clean up, and you’re dropping more? Because you think I need more to do? Fuck you, if you think that!
Fuck me?
Fuck you, Fred! You are an asshole, man!
Excuse me, you’d better watch your fucking language around me.
Or what?
Or we’re going to have a problem!
We already have a problem! You!
There’s nothing wrong with me! You don’t know me!
Everything’s wrong with you! Who says you get to talk to other employees this way? You aren’t a manager! You’re just a driver!
You’d better bet that Kathy is going to hear about this!
What, you going to run away now? Buddy, I’m just getting started!
You’re the asshole, Rog! You knew this was the last day before my vacation! Fred drove away at full-speed and Rog suffered his wrath for the rest of his shift. And as he wiped the sweat from his brow as he squatted by a pallet he was wrapping – his lungs panting and his heart racing and his back throbbing and only twenty minutes left in his shift; and his manager Katherine behind him, yelling at him about what he said to Fred and that he needed to stand up and explain himself right now – Rog cursed Fred under his breath. Worse than any wish of death or bodily dismemberment. Rog knew that he didn’t have any supernatural powers – or, at least, none that had awakened yet – but he’d heard of “The Secret” and the law of attraction and thought that, maybe, if he wanted it bad enough, it would happen. Yes, Fred needed to be taught a lesson. A lesson that was beyond Rog’s reach to teach in the material world. He cursed Fred, and his vacation, and his family, and anything else tied to him. His best friend in High School. His wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, whoever he was with. His parents. Him. And then he stood up.

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