Everything’s all set, but you need to know that I’m gonna miss my kidney. I’ve had that particular kidney since birth and have grown rather fond of it. Sure, I never gave it a name but now that it’s gone I shall call him Lefty McGee. That’s called irony because those guys removed my right kidney. They were careful when they did it, I just wish they had been as careful sewing me up afterwards. It’s still tender and red around the incision. I’m sure a little antibacterial ointment will stop the puss from oozing out of it. Continue reading
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It has been a while since I posted. New job, new schedule and I am still getting adjusted.
Anyway, here is a short story I wrote for my college publication. There was around 30 submissions and they only chose 5. I was one of the 5! 🙂
And yes, the ending was left purposely ambiguous so that anyone can relate.
It Doesn’t Work That Way
My knees buckle from exhaustion as I take a half-step backwards to steady myself. The fierce attacks from the many snarling faces have momentarily stopped and all I can think of is a nursey rhyme my mother sang to me. A rhyme meant to shield me from the evils of everything. An innocent lie told to her child. One that is meaningless now.
In this infinite white room I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and steel myself for the next attack. My strong right hand grasps the club so tight that my hands shake and my bleeding knuckles turn white. The coarse wood feels powerful beneath my soft palms. Quick strikes from the club have barely protected me thus far. In my weaker left hand I struggle to maintain a grip on the heavy rock. Its great weight has slowed my defense, yet its great weight has stopped many of the assaults. The simple Neanderthal tools are my only weapons to ward off the onslaught. They are better than a mother’s lying rhymes. Continue reading
Experimenting with surrealistic imagery. It is weird writing with vague dreamy imagery, while still holding onto the basics like plot and character. It is perhaps harder to pull everything together so that by the end, the reader is aware of everything.
Everything was quiet. No birds squawked their annoyance at my presence. No insects sang love songs across the vast expanse of where I knelt before the leak. My frantic heart pounded silently in my chest. My labored breathing evoked no noise. No stuttering inhale nor ragged exhale filled my ears with its crackling rush of wind as I watched the heavy water spurt from the hole in the wall.
Ignoring the unnatural silence, I stared with dumbfounded eyes at the ragged hole drilled into the dirty tan wall. Mortar cracks of the wall were caked with dirt and grime because the wall dared to exist in a foreign land. In an eternity above the wall’s gushing wound, great forests of thick green leaves and brown underbrush silently breathed on me. The eyes of the thicket pleaded with me to stop the discharge of fluid from its depths. Continue reading
Here is a little piece of fiction I wrote for author Chuck Wendig’s flash fiction challenge.
Word Count: 1728 I hope you enjoy!
The Goblet of Lost Chicago
No orange glow flickered across the aged brick walls of the alley. No cracked fingers protruded from the tattered remnants of worn gloves. Only hoarse coughs and muffled sniffles spoke of life in the allies of Chicago during the winter. The warmth of fires only burned in the barrels of allies from movie sets. In the real world, the police demanded such fire hazards be snuffed out. Too many loose layers covering dirt-caked hands hovered around the fires for the comfort of the law. A fire among the piles of refuse in the alley outweighed the comfort of heat for the lost ones of the Windy City. Continue reading