Category: Short Story

  • Broad Reach

    Broad Reach

    Author Note: I wrote this short story back in high school–it may even have been my first! Let’s see if it’s any good. The bow slapped over lazy waves. Sea batted his side. He spat and shivered. It was cold, tart, nauseating. His immediate thought was industrial runoff or the Charles. By now salt crusted…

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  • Player 210

    Player 210

    Well I had to drown myself in the sink or else I’d look foolish. The hockey team, those that saw more ice than bench, anyway, was packed into Max “Guts” Guzowski’s half bath, and I was staring at the toothpasty basin and its long black hairs that could have been his sister Nikki’s if she…

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  • The Trolley Car Ghost

    The Trolley Car Ghost

    Rather like the placement of a parlor chair relative to the fire, window, and bookshelf, a ghost’s choice of haunt is an intimate decision requiring exactitude and not a little wiggling about. The world has few caves or abbeys left for secret lurking. One could make a cozy living between the cobwebbed stacks of CDs…

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  • Thrice Killed in Purgatory

    Thrice Killed in Purgatory

    Author Note: I wrote the following short story in high school. Let’s see how it holds up! November, 1885. “I do not pry, Miss Frances.” Priscilla Finch folded her hands, knuckles bared under fuchsia lace glovelettes. Eastern, Maude noted. Far and fashionable for an off-again-on-again camp. Since she stepped off the train two years ago, Maude Frances…

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  • Blue Giantess

    Blue Giantess

    It would have to be the varnish. The night would be warm without need of brandy, and Mama always said he could do with less. He would not use the whole pail of varnish, but that final coat would seal the skiff true, and he could not justify another missed night-drift on account of brandy,…

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  • Chlorophyr, or, the Decimation of Marigolds

    Chlorophyr, or, the Decimation of Marigolds

    The water turned pink over my ankles. He shouldn’t have been there, Contreras. Didn’t mean he deserved it. And the strength! I knew I had anger, but not the swinging ability to kill a man with it. Girl versus man—how many urban nightmares pitted the two against each other, a hundred-pound Daphne in diamond heels…

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  • The Dinner Bell

    The Dinner Bell

    They had room to play tag, an old sofa and card table, and a TV. If the TV didn’t do it, they would have to sit in their imaginations until dinner was over and they were allowed back upstairs. Upstairs was a crown of light where the grown-ups floated in watery colors and shrieks of…

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  • Lines like Cut Ties

    Lines like Cut Ties

    The lines of the parking lot were old and broken. In this row there were no vacancies and the Volvo sat between two station wagons with stickered tailgates. Cooling the Volvo was the shadow of the visors lowered to catch the glare of the sun and the electronic marquee of the outlet strip ahead. The…

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  • The Next Tick

    The Next Tick

    Part II of The White Roe The curve of her cheek split between panes. She stared past her broken face to the nightworld beyond and its seizure of skeleton trees. They wanted solidity against the black sky and its skirling windhounds who chased anything mad enough to grow beyond the castle and its harbor of…

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  • The Prophet Before

    The Prophet Before

    Was it rebellion, if allowed? Defiance, if ordained? Sin, if redeemed?            God was alone in His knowledge. He carved the spheres of the universe and deserved something all Himself. While he birthed all manner of creatures, his true child was Conscience. He hid the child in the fruit of paradise and adored their fatal…

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