Short Fiction
These stories are part of the 2009 collection
We chirped terror, for the electricity lines wobbled in the air; roof tiles shed like old, red leaves. Walls cracked, buildings crumbled.
These stories are part of the 2009 collection
“But you do have to wonder, sometimes, don’t you, what on earth is it that they are they looking for out there?”
I filled up my paper and handed it in, the first one to do so in my class, just so I could see Bu Ida's smile.
I had never noticed before how many round things the produce aisle holds.
“Don’t think twice about it, here, this’ll keep it our secret, huh?” Mama Elaine passed the leftover innards from the blueberry pie to the girl.
You're used to Tony taking your things, so it doesn't sting as much as it might. You dare anything to penetrate your numbness.
I remember how, on the night when I first visited the newly built Montfort, Danny's fish had caught my eye - even before its real significance had become apparent.
The engine cut out with a wheeze and the car sank into its shockers. The kid was in the back and Don could just make out the top of its fuzzy head swinging from side to side.
Some days, he imagines he has students as the red sauce drips from his ladle over thin noodles. They eagerly anticipate any flourishes Yoshi will grant them.
They say that hormones made Danny the way he was in seventh grade: six foot two and two hundred pounds. His growth had migrated into his body so there wasn't much left in his mental topography.
A nap is obviously out of the question. Even if I could ignore the sauerkraut, there is no way I can sleep with a running commentary burbling about me. He's like an alpine stream at spring.
Aaron's rust-red Cortina gone. He works, sometimes. Comes home late at night or the next day with fistfuls of crumpled dollars. She doesn't ask.
White-hot rebellion segues into a new orthodoxy, and it often proves too much of an effort to change one's ways. And why should one, when one has name and reputation?
She turned the motor off and jiggled the keys. Neither of us wanted to get out of the car and into the Assembly.
For someone who reckoned he didn't give a stuff, he sure cared about being the only cock on the walk, if you get me.
Their table was decorated with an avalanche of fresh flowers and as a center piece an ice sculpture of cherubs shooting rifles.
Ever Avigail’s clever father, though, I had managed to snare the account by closing the deal on my car phone. There would be raspberry sherbet for everyone tonight.
Today the task list had a notice at the top. "Recent analysis of your performance metrics," it said, "have categorized your task performance as sub-optimal. Without rapid performance improvement, remedial action will be taken."
All white and smelling of bleach, tang sharp the coloured lines on the floor giving directions to Paediatrics, this way, Oncology, Gerontology; this is Intensive Care.