Category Archives: Short stories

The Adventures of Job, Trixie, and Lola

Posted on by under Fantasy, Realistic, Short stories, Writing Prompts

Today in Writers’ Club, we listened to three songs from a diverse range of genres–classical, obscenely gangster rap, and lastly, Icelandic–while writing short stories that had to revolve around three characters: Job, Trixie, and Lola. The goal was not to create something extremely refined, but simply be inspired by the mood that music creates. Below are the two stories I wrote; the first contains both Job and Trixie, and the second contains Lola.

by Angela Guo

A very young baby girl named Lola stared at the circle of plastic toys spinning above her face. Among the objects in the circle were a rubber duck, a miniature beach ball, and a Barbie-sized clown. Laying peacefully in her crib, Lola studied the toy clown.

The painted red smile on the clown’s face began to turn downward. Lola’s mouth followed this movement. Lola opened her mouth, which was still missing quite a few teeth. All of a sudden, the clown fell off the circle, landing into Lola’s open mouth. Lola was paralyzed with fear, too surprised and too young to think of pulling the toy clown from her mouth.

Continue reading →

A Long Setup

Posted on by under Short stories, Writing Prompts

By Declan Quinn.  For the “the two stood face to face” prompt.

 

The two stood face to face, frozen in their little moment in time.  There they stood, a sharp outcrop of black against the bleak white backdrop.  It was like standing in a white room, except that the walls, floor, and ceiling didn’t exist.  Nothing existed, except for the two, standing against the passing of time, the infinite of space, confined to their own little corner of their own universe.

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Polyester

Posted on by under Fantasy, Short stories

The two faced each other, finally. Her eyes, like knitting needles, had prodded his left cheek for the past hour, not enough to hurt. Hurting needles do not irritate as her needles do. Avoiding the dead stare, he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m so sor-”

Smothered by her single upright finger on his lips, the unfinished idea bounced eight times before settling.

“I’m so sor-”

“I’m so sor-”

“I’m so sor-”

“I’m so sor-”

…

Shhhh, she whispered. Continue reading →

Isolation: the only truth

Posted on by under Short stories, Writing Prompts

By Jack Joseph

This is my response to the fear prompt. It’s meant to be from someone’s perspective that doesn’t realize that he or she is living in fear. Contains barely any mature language.

_________

I left as quickly as I could. I hadn’t said anything, luckily, but I could still feel all of their eyes on me. Why can’t they just let me suffer on my own? It’s bad enough as it is without them laughing behind my back. I know they do it. Even if I try to spend the period with my head down while I doodle in my note-book, their attention gravitates towards me. Oh, they’re subtle though. I rarely see them stare at me directly, but I know that they do it. Those clever assholes have had years to practice.

The walk home is blissful, even though I know I have homework, projects, presentations, finals, interviews, applications, tests, and quizzes all hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles. I finally had time to be away from those bastards and just breath (which, coincidentally enough, is what my biology presentation next Thursday is about — breathing, I mean). I didn’t need to worry about the cars passing by me on the sidewalk and what the drivers thought of me. Why should they? I’m nothing to them! I am a bystander in their lives. I play such an insignificant role that anyone could do it! The blink of an eye and I’m gone. Just like that. Never really needed to be there in the first place. God what a beautiful kind of life. No one peering into you, asking questions about what you think, who you look up to, or what kind of ice cream you like. Continue reading →

Not a downfall

Posted on by under Realistic, Short stories, Writing Prompts

By Jack Joseph

This is a true story in response to the “danger” prompt. Though I didn’t know it at the time, it runs out that I had fractured my collarbone, but not nearly bad enough to do anything about it.

__________

It didn’t take long to realize my mistake. Obviously I jumped too far, and with too much force. Obviously I shouldn’t have gone for the one that was bound to break soon anyway.

But isn’t that the point?

Don’t I climb to be unsafe, to go someplace few others have been, to get that wonderful feeling as the branches move beneath me, yet I know that I am perfectly balanced, perfectly in tune with the giant organism that supports my weight dozens of feet off the ground?

Maybe I wasn’t careful enough. Going down has always required more thought and care than the ascension. Didn’t Sam get stuck in that redwood, years ago? But oaks are not redwoods. Their branches stay thick; their roots go deep.  But maybe I shouldn’t have tried leaping from the powerful branch to the one hanging above me. Perhaps I should have climbed around it, but the opportunity was too perfect. The branch was right there, waiting to be leapt to and swung upon to reach the safety of the beam-like limb suspended just out of reach.

Destiny called, and as I felt my hands grasp the rough wood and a feeling of exultation washed over me, the truth broke in on my majestic flight and the ground rushed up to meet me. Continue reading →

Thoughts Before Sleep

Posted on by under Realistic, Short stories, Writing Prompts

 by Nick Kaufman

                There’s the chair. And the stereo. The door. My entire room slowly coming into focus, each shape revealing itself from its one-way window. Slower and slower, I do not move and yet I can feel myself beginning to pass through, in this darkness, as though I were slowly being overtaken by a wall of black water.

I close my eyes once more and breathe, imagining myself laying here in my bed, waiting for this submersion to be complete. This has been my ritual for the past hour. Or has it been a half hour? Two hours? It appears I am further than I thought: Time is dead.

I open my eyes and look around the room. Every object is clearly defined now, I can see everything. The submersion is complete. I have entered this dark realm. And now that I have brushed past the black veil, I see that this place favors a quer blue-ish glow which bathes my surroundings in a blue haze.

Safety. Calm. Peace. Present

                Only these exist in this universe created be the void. My mind expands infinitely, exploring multiple caverns – each with its own railroad. And as one locomotive leave its station, my mind leaps atop the rood and travels with the car. My conscious thoughts race back and forth in a sea of invisible gears and metal which can only be produced from the legendary forges of the mind, providing a myriad of stepping stones – each shattering upon contact. The fragments scattering, some are lost, but others are retained and pursued. Continue reading →

That Great Pinball Wizard in the Sky

Posted on by under Realistic, Short stories, Uncategorized

by Michael Lutzker

Here’s a crudely constructed stream of consciousness, in need of editing, perhaps. Hopefully I don’t come off mentally insane or inebriated. But here goes:

I’ve been thinking a lot about God lately. My thoughts have been rattling around between my ears, like in a pinball machine, setting off an array of alarms and buzzers left and right in some way you just can’t understand how. And you are just frantically, jamming on that plunger as if that little metal ball was your life, and you can’t take your eyes off the lights and you can’t hear anything but those sounds, man, those buzzers. You don’t know what they mean, or how you trigger them, but they are satisfying, and you seek them out through experimentation. You just keep jamming that button on the side frantically to keep that ball up, as if your life depended on it. Then eventually, either because your pulsating finger fails you or because, and you swear, that the machine is broken, that metal ball cascades down out of reach of the lever. But you insert another quarter, eyes still transfixed, and a ring of foamy saliva below your lower lip, and try it again. One game flows into the next, without stammer. Thoughts continue to rattle and roll and swirl. Next thing you know you’ve spent half the afternoon away and are down $18.75 in quarters.  But that’s life, sometimes.

Anyway, I’ve been having mind-boggling thoughts life the one evidenced just now all weekend. Maybe I’m just sobering up after a semester-long adrenaline high, but the thoughts are coming in like a broken gumball machine, and I’m slippin’ and slidin’ all over these gumballs in slapstick fashion trying to plug up the hole but can’t seem to make any forward progress. It’s really quite comical, and everyone’s getting a good laugh this weekend, because I’m really tickling a lot of funny bones and being abnormally chatty with meek acquaintances. It seems as though I cannot interact with anybody without sounding like a drunk boss toasting all his neglected employees and getting a little grabby with the female secretaries at the annual Christmas Party. Continue reading →

The Other Side

Posted on by under Realistic, Short stories, Uncategorized, Writing Prompts

by Christian Theodossy

I see them.

I see them through the fog. Behind the glass. Across the vastness of a chasm.

They say things to each other, things I want to hear, things I have to hear.

But they’re too far away, the fog is too thick. I can’t break through.

I try to say something to them, just so they’ll know I’m here, but I’m too quiet, they don’t hear me.

I’ll say it a little louder, maybe they’ll hear this time.

They don’t.

I shout, and a few of them look around like they noticed something.

But still, the glass stands. Unbreakable.

But I have to hear. I have to know.

So I work up as much voice as I can, and I take a deep breath.

And I shout. Continue reading →

Janice Prays For Janice by Hannah Edgar

Posted on by under Short stories

It’s not that she had a fear of flying. It was more a fear of the hypothetical, the What-Ifs that swarmed the cabin and stuffed themselves resolutely into the twin turbine engines under the wings. They had an annoying habit of lying dormant, those What-Ifs, at least until the very moment she settled in her seat—always, always by the window—and buckled her seatbelt. Then, suddenly, as if the metal catch were a trigger, the What-Ifs were there, springing out from behind her tray table like jack-in-the-boxes, rubbing their grubby little hands together with the conniving hedonism of fruit flies. It was easy to sink into those What-Ifs. Fortunately for Janice, in business class, it was also easy to order a scotch and soda. Continue reading →

Window Seats

Posted on by under Realistic, Short stories

by Alan Osmundson

The landscape passed him in an incomprehensible blur. It fascinated him, how if he focused his eyes in a certain manner, he could tell what he was passing, and how if not, it all merged into a single swath of colors.

His fixation was broken as the train passed over a stone lying on the track, causing a mild but noticeable jolt. As he tore his gaze from the window he saw a woman sitting across him whom he had not noticed before. Her eyes pointed down into a book that appeared to be a fantasy novel. He observed her for some time as she read, an occasional smile rising to her lips, a subtle smile that wasn’t distracting, but just nice enough to brighten anyone’s day.

Then, as if by some act of extra-sensory perception, she looked up at him as he stared back and gave him that same smile, as well as an inaudible laugh. He attempted to reciprocate, but was unable to muster more than an unsightly grimace before she became absorbed by her book once more.

Disappointed, he turned back to the window and let the colors pass by again.

After some time, her voice tore his eyes from the window.

“Where are you headed towards?” Continue reading →