Stories

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Flash Fiction Contest Submission 1

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May is Short Story Month and in celebration I am holding a Flash Fiction contest on this site.

This first entry by Adam D. Richardson, kicks off the contest. Thank you, Adam, for your submission, and for going first.

“The Kick”

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Adam D. Richardson

“Recognize the situation!” he screamed at his wife. The power lines across the street attracted him and reminded him of a subtle and fragile strength he had over absolutely nothing. His breathing reverberated in his ears and became the only thing he could hear as she spoke. She became a silent shouting face, merely responding to his instigation. But he remembered to breathe. Staring at his toes, propped up on the wall, he noticed he had let his toenails grow far too long, and also that his feet pressed neatly against the stucco. He thought she was in front of him, but she was standing beside him and he hadn’t noticed. He turned and looked at the shouting face and remembered that he hadn’t been listening at all; always a few minutes too late.

“Listen,” he etched, “It’s the wrong time. Neither of us are ready. We’ve been working towards it, but this is too soon.”

“Then when? What will be different a year from now?”

He knew he couldn’t argue this, and he really didn’t want to. He wanted her to agree with him without any convincing required, without making a case based on legitimacy and rationality. He just wanted her to abort. Even if he didn’t want to.

“Money,” he squeaked, “We have no way of supporting a kid right now. We are both jobless, living on just what we have left. In a year we can have jobs and at least a steady income. At least a fucking job, you know?”

She crossed her arms and cut him loose, putting her hand to her lips and biting her nail. “I didn’t want to mention it, but you seem to forget what I have to go through for this. The psychological and physical pain. Again.”

He looked back at his feet and curled his big toes. HIs prostrate toes formed the stunted hands of a composer. “I haven’t forgotten that at all. I’ve been thinking about it all night. I want to have kids, babe, but this is not the right time. We have no jobs, no income, and I don’t want to bring a kid into this world without preparing. We should at least have some kind of income!”

She dropped down on the stool and her tears followed her. “I know you’re right, but I just… it makes me sad.”

His toes inverted as he stood up and went to her. He curled his fingers around her shoulder. “It’s the wise choice, babe.”

She hicced and laid her head down on the table, weeping.

“It’s the wise choice,” he kicked.

Comments and feedback are welcome and remember that there is still plenty of time to submit your own story. Send manuscripts to Somedamnfool88@gmail.com

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Flash Fiction Contest

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May is short story month and with that in mind I have a little proposition. Anybody who wants to can submit me a short story, of the flash fiction variety, and provided it’s not truly terrible (purely subjective on my part) or I get like a thousand submissions (I won’t) I’ll publish it here on this blog. I will make sure you receive the public credit for writing the story. At the end of the month I’ll pick a winner and said winner will be able to brag about his or her triumph until the end of days. Sadly, I don’t have any money to offer the winner of this contest, but what I do have to offer is virtually guaranteed publication and a small, but steady, readership. Also, the winner will get a free signed copy of my novel, target release date in the summer of 2026. Hopefully some of you feel like flexing your writing muscles and send me some stories! Can’t wait to read them.

The only restriction I have is that it is no more than a thousand words.

Please send all submissions to Somedamnfool88@gmail.com

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Dolores Greyson in “Taking Action”

The following flash fiction is the latest in the series “MacDougal Drive” featured on this site and The Roost

The previous entries

Bill

Jimmy

Dolores

Harley

Bill Vol. 2

Jimmy, too

The weeds had grown high and their roots clung to the deep parts of the earth. Dolores dug a perimeter around, gripped tightly and pulled the stubborn roots out. She was careful to not leave anything behind as the weed would soon be back to full height if she missed any part. The sun was high and bright but not painfully hot. This was the kind of day that normally would have brought her peace, but nothing was normal anymore. Not since Walter, not since the attacks on those kids. Everything was wrong.

Bill came out of his house, a half-smoked cigarette dangled from his mouth, and headed down the driveway. He nodded in her general direction but offered no greeting. His eyes were bloodshot and yellow sweat stains spotted his undershirt. She could practically smell the stale booze even from this distance. She watched him disgustedly as he rummaged through the mail and flicked his butt into the dry gutter, and then scratched himself without any shame.

“How’s your mother, Bill?” She called out to him on his way back up the driveway.

He slowed only slightly, replied without looking at her. “Stronger every day.”

“You give me that answer every day.”

Bill stopped and finally looked at Dolores. “Mrs. Greyson, she might just outlive us all.”

“The way you’ve been carrying on, that doesn’t surprise me.”

He lit another cigarette. “What’s that mean?”

“Don’t think I don’t hear you coming home late from whatever sin infested hole you’ve been, stumbling drunk and laughing like a maniac.”

A smile crept across his face. “Why, Dolores, have you been spying on me?”

She shook her head in disgust. “You’re a grown man, Bill. Start acting like it.”

The smile disappeared. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”

“You’ve got responsibilities.”

“I’m honoring them.”

They stared at each other for a long, drawn out moment. Bill then turned and went back to the house.

“You shouldn’t smoke in the house, there’s a sick woman in there.”

No reply. Bill closed the door behind him. Dolores felt herself grow hot with rage. This whole world made no sense to her anymore. She went back down on her knees and started pulling at the weeds again.

She could feel the slight extra weight of the glock tucked into the waistline in the back of her pants. That weight brought her comfort. She tried for a moment to remember just when she had started carrying the weapon around with her as she gardened, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it, probably a couple months. A growing distrust of this neighborhood, the same on she had lived in for over forty years, constantly threatened to overwhelm her. This street, this town, this world really, needed cleaning. Disease was spreading all around, tainting everything she held dear. Walter wouldn’t have stood idly by, he’d have taken action. That was just the kind of man he was. Dolores felt her eyes grow wet so she shoved everything from her mind and refocused her concentration to the task at hand. With the right tools and some determination, these weeds posed very little problem. A slight breeze picked up and for the briefest of moments, it washed away the smell of decay that had recently saturated MacDougal Drive.

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First Date

Julia and Michael are sitting on opposite ends of a couch, each with a glass of wine in their hands.

Michael
And then I said (in a bad Borat voice) Very nice!

Julia
Oh my god. That is so funny.

Michael
(Laughing) Thanks.

Julia
Really, that’s really funny..

Michael
(Still laughing) Thanks. Sometimes crazy thing just happen to me, you know?

Michael scoots a couple inches closer to Julia.

Julia
How ‘bout some more wine there, Chief?

Julia doesn’t wait for him to respond before pouring more wine into his glass. She also takes this time to refill her glass.

Michael
Oh, thanks. Listen, I’m really happy you came over to me at the bar because I was staring at you all night. I don’t mean staring. What I mean is, it wasn’t in a creepy way or anything, I just noticed you a lot. (Takes deep breath.) I just think you’re really hot.

Julia
What, you don’t get approached by girls? I find that hard to believe.

Michael
No, it’s not that. I mean, I do pretty well with the ladies. (Michael scoots a little closer again.) It’s just that girls don’t usually approach guys in my experience.

Julia
Well, then I’m glad I approached you too.

They both drink from their respective glasses. Michael puts his arm around Julia but he’s still a little too far away to pull it off perfectly and he has to fully extend his arm just to get his hand on the back of her neck.

Julia
You don’t do this very much, do you?

Michael
(Fidgeting.) No, it’s not like I never have though. Like I said, I do alright with the ladies, but I guess I’m not Wilt Chamberlain or anything like that.

Julie leans in and they kiss.

Charlie
(offstage) Somebody help me!

Michael
Who the hell’s that?

Charlie enters. He is walking quickly and seems to have blood all over his shirt.

Charlie
You guys, you gotta help me. I was attacked.

Julia
What happened?

Michael
Wait, who is this guy?

Charlie
I’m really sorry to intrude on you guys, but I got a terrible situation here and I could really use some pointers.

Julia
It’s okay, Michael. Charlie’s my neighbor. (To Charlie.) Okay, what happened?

Charlie
Like I said, I was attacked, right? But I fought back.

Julia
And are you okay?

Michael
Is that…blood?

Charlie
So I’m walking home from the bar, and this guy comes at me with a knife. He probably wanted my money, but the joke was on him because, what money? I was ready for him though. When he lunged at me with that knife of his I just grabbed his wrist from behind and turned it around on him. (Charlie acts this out.)

Julia
How were you ready for him?

Charlie
What? Oh I don’t really know I guess. Anyway, he screams out “I’ve been stabbed!” And so I gotta shut him up, you know? So I grabbed a rock and just smashed his skull. (Beat.) He’s dead now.

Michael
Oh god.

Julia
Dead? And you’re sure?

Charlie
Oh yeah, he’s definitely dead. I mean, I haven’t seen that many dead things, mostly squirrels and small animals like that, but this guy was dead.

Julia
Okay, let’s everybody calm down and figure this out.

Michael
What are we figuring out?

Charlie
The weird thing is, I think I kind of enjoyed it. I mean, I’m pretty amped over here.

Michael
Oh shit.

Julia
Okay, why don’t you sit down, Charlie, and try to calm down.

Charlie sits down on the couch next to Michael.

Julia
Did anybody see you?

Charlie
I don’t think so.

Michael
Are you guys insane? Julia, we need to call the cops.

Charlie
(Standing back up) Cops? Are you crazy? I just killed a man, in a fairly brutal fashion I might add. How could I possibly explain this to the fuzz?

Michael
Jesus, this isn’t happening.

Julia
Okay, no cops. Charlie, you can stay here until things die down a little. You can sleep on the couch.

Michael
Stay here? That can’t happen. Look at this guy, he’s clearly unstable.

Julia
I can’t abandon my friend. What kind of person would I be?

Charlie
You won’t even know I’m here, I swear.

Michael
Listen, I’m not staying here with a killer.

Charlie
Dude, you’re starting to really agitate me. (Puts his arm around Michael) Julia’s got plenty of rocks in her backyard.

Michael
Oh shit. I gotta go, Julia.

Michael gets up and runs off stage without looking back. Charlie starts laughing quietly.

Julia
That’s a shame. I really did kind of like him, it’s too bad he got away.

Charlie
Huh? Oh man, Julia it was like we were dancing. (Sits back down on the couch.)

Julia
Well at least now it’s out in the open.

Charlie
Yeah, that’s a good thing, I think. I’m sorry I just barged in on you guys like that. He seemed like a decent dude and all.

Julia
Yeah, he was okay.

Charlie
It’s just that I got tired of seeing you bring all these guys home all the time.

Julia
Well…

Charlie
That’s not to say that you bring a lot of guys home or anything. I’m not saying that at all, please believe me. I mean it’s not like promiscuity is a sin or anything right? I’ve gotten around myself a bit too, so I’m no nun myself.

Julia
I’m starting to think we’re not talking about the same thing here.

Charlie
I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that I just wish those guys were me sometimes.

Julia
Oh god. What about tonight?

Charlie
Look, let’s just start from square one. I don’t want to freak you out or anything but I’ve been in love with you for like two years now. I don’t mean that in a weird way, I just watch your house sometimes.

Julia
Okay, let’s just relax here. We have to get you out of here before the cops come.

Charlie
Why would the cops come? Unless that little prick calls them or something, but I’m pretty sure he’s too scared at this point.

Julia
Well, the body’s going to raise some suspicions, right?

Charlie
Body? There’s no body.

Julia
You didn’t kill anybody.

Charlie
No, of course not. I understand I’m a little unstable but I’m not a psychopath or anything.

Julia
Oh god. What about the blood on your shirt.

Charlie
This? It’s just that fake stuff you get from the Halloween store. I just wanted to scare that guy away so I could finally tell you how I feel.

Julia
Now you’ve got me really pissed off.

Charlie
I’m sorry I lied to you, but I couldn’t figure out any other way.

Julia
The problem is that he got away and now what am I gonna do? I worked hard to get him over here and set everything up. Now I really am back to square one. It’s too bad, I thought you and I could’ve really connected.

Charlie
Now I’m a little confused. What are we talking about?

Julia
I can’t let you leave.

Charlie
I thought I was sleeping on the couch. I mean, I’m perfectly okay with taking things slow.

Julia
God, you’re dumber than the last one, but you’ll have to do. Why don’t I pour you a glass of wine?

Julia sits back down on the couch and pours wine into Michael’s abandoned glass.

Charlie
Yeah, okay. I could use another drink. (Takes a drink and begins to visibly relax.)

Julia
Tell me a joke.

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Bill Volume 2: Reborn

Continuing MacDougal Drive

Bill left the bar and lit a cigarette. Larry was a good sort, even picked up the tab. Bill resolved that he would buy beer the next time they were out, though he’d have to figure out a way to make some money first. Once he’d been full of ideas, some ridiculous sure, but there was never a short of inspiration. Then the dark times, the waiting around for his mother to die had taken something from him. He felt now that it was coming back though, that a spark had been relit somehow. A change had occurred, there was no denying it. Since the letter from the writer’s conference he’d been smoking too much, had started boozing again. The fragile illusion of control he had so carefully cultivated was becoming impossible to maintain. The nicotine shot through his brain and focused his thoughts, sent his drunkenness away to hide in a corner. He walked up the street towards home where he’d check on his mother, who would probably yell at him for leaving her alone. It had become clear that she was clinging onto life only to burden him, keep him down until he knew, and would never forget, what a rotten son he was to her.

The skies were an unnatural black above him. No, not unnatural he told himself, just cloudy, the threat of rain looming. He thought of how badly the city needed a good rain. Not for the drought, that was perpetual, but to give a feeling of being washed. That kid that had been killed made everything and everybody feel dirty and tainted, guilty over their own small roles in the evil. Murders were rare in this town, child murders almost unheard of. He’d given a lot of credit to that awful letter, but this sensational act of violence was just as much responsible for the change. A dark energy had fallen over the town, something sinister yet potentially beautiful.

He picked up his pace to beat the rain, felt the booze creeping its way back into his consciousness. Bill felt awful about the dead kid, the one that lived too, to live is sometimes worse. He was pretty sure that kid was a neighbor, but he had little memory for faces. But he had to admit a certain excitement too. Finally something worth talking about, something maybe even worth writing about again. He could follow the case, interview the victims and suspects, turn it into a narrative. He could be like Truman Capote, except he wouldn’t be gay. Well, he’d be willing to fake it if it meant selling the book. Bill didn’t have a lot of sexual urges one way or another anymore. But what a story, what a writer!

The drunk was back in full now and he had to piss. He stopped and whipped out in front of a brick wall, tried writing the first sentence of his new book with his stream. He became vaguely aware of someone shouting. He turned to see an officer of the law getting out of his car and coming at him.
“What’s going on here?”
Bill looked down at his exposed member. “Couldn’t wait.”
“Put it away.” The officer approached him and sniffed the air. “Drunk?”
“Boy howdy.”
“Alright, come on.” He led Bill into the backseat of his cruiser, but didn’t cuff him. “You’re gonna sleep this one off in the tank.”
Bill laughed in delight, he was back. Yes, he was losing control of himself. He could be a writer again. He watched the neighborhood fly by through the window and thought only of his new masterpiece.

Read the rest of the series of MacDougal Drive:

Bill

Jimmy

Dolores

Harley