Tag: story

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#72 Inspired by Music

Each portion of this story was inspired by the music I was listening to via shuffle. 

Song: Flowers on the Wall (Statler Brothers)

Tony strolled into the local florist, obviously not in a clear state of mind. He had just come off an all night bender and the bright colors attracted him as he made his way toward civilization from the less gentrified area of town. The woman behind the counter could smell him a mile away, and kept a watchful eye as he looked at her inventory.

“How much?”, he said, pointing toward an arrangement of flowers.

Song: Learn to Fly (Foo Fighters)

The proprietor eyed the wilting flowers she was about to toss out, as she cleaned the shop shortly after opening.

“They’re free for you if you’d like to take them home”, she said, passing the roses to Tony. His startled look accompanied a tentative “uh… thanks”, as he turned and walked toward the door.

“Thank God he’s gone”, the shop keeper said as she watched Tony stagger down the street, roses in hand.

Wilting Rose © by =-.0=

Tony, however, wasn’t quite ready to go home. He knew that his girlfriend would have, no doubt, left a few dozen messages for him with his roommate, especially after he stopped responding to her texts the night before. It wasn’t his fault though – a broken phone smashed after falling off a bar stool isn’t the best texting machine.

Tony, clutching broken phone in one hand, and roses in the other, pushed his way into the AT&T store near the florist. The salesperson approached, apprehensive as the florist had been.

Song: Another Postcard (Chimps) (Barenaked Ladies)

“Can I help you?”, he asked Tony.

“Uh… broke my phone last night”, Tony said as he thrust the remains of his cheap phone into the man’s hands.

“I can see that!”, the salesman said as he surveyed the damage.

“Can you fix it?”, Tony slurred. He’d started to come out of the altered state of consciousness he was currently a resident of, and the hangover had started setting in.

The salesman looked at the phone, broken plastic and missing battery, and informed Tony that he couldn’t.

“Then gimme a new one”, Tony said. The salesman started the process of replacing the phone, and was grateful when he saw that Tony was due an upgrade anyway. He seriously doubted Tony had the money to spend today on a new phone, but felt confident Tony could at least sign his name.

Song: Pickin’ Up The Pieces (Fitz & The Tantrums)

The salesman brought Tony over to the ‘free’ phones section of the store and showed him his three options. Tony picked the one he could see clearest, reasoning that future benders would be easier if his phone was more visible to him. Drunk logic worked like that.

“Just a moment, Mr. Hendricks”, the salesman said to Tony as he went through the usual phone voodoo needed to transfer the essence of one phone to another. When he was done, Tony collected his new phone and roses and wandered out.

“Pills”, Tony thought as his headache intensified. One last stop before he wandered toward the drugstore.

Aspirin: Candy for Programmers © by brx0

Song: Shattered (Turn the Car Around) (O.A.R.)

Tony made his way into the store, one of those newer mega drugstores that keeps the drugs, ironically, hard to find. He located a small bottle of aspirin that he was reasonably sure he had enough money to pay for and wandered toward the front. A few steps before the cashier he grabbed a bottle of some beverage from a nearby freezer and placed both items on the counter.

“$3.45”, the woman announced.

Tony dug into his pocket, finding that his phone was much larger than it had previously been, and locating two quarters and three crumpled up bills.

“Here’s your change”, the woman cheerily announced as Tony ripped into the drink and the aspirin, placing the nickel in his pocket. The beverage tasted cherry-like, although Tony didn’t bother to look at what brand or concoction it was. All he knew was that he needed to get the pills down and that he was thirsty as hell.

He arrived at his apartment around 9 A.M., each step on the three flights of stairs felt like a knock to the head. He reached his door, put the key in the lock, and turned it, only to find the door unlocked.

Song: Burn That Bridge (Jimmy Buffett)

She saw him before he’d fully entered the apartment.

“Damnit Tony, what the…”, she stopped her sentence midway as she spied the roses.

Tony, not being a particularly dumb man despite his condition, recognized he might have some sort of opportunity here, given his eye for pretty colors and the bounty it had scored him.

“Sorry babe”, he said as he offered up the roses, “I messed up”. Something inside him told him to shut up at this point and let the flowers do the talking.

Angie looked shocked. Tony had never bought her roses before. For him to do it this morning, in his obviously unkept state, was amazing.

“Let’s get you some rest”, she said, as she guided him toward the bedroom.

[SSDay]

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#58 Not Me

“Not again”, the writer said as he looked at his email. “No, I’m not writing about myself in that story – and yes my marriage is fine, thank you”.

It happened all the time. He wrote interesting stories about a variety of odd characters and somehow, someone he knew, would link some eccentricity of the character back to him. Or maybe something the character was going through, or maybe some setting.

“Ah, you wrote about somewhere within 500 miles of where you once lived as a child huh?”, a friend might start, “Bet Bob Weezilville is really you as a kid, isn’t he?!?”. The writer merely forced a chuckle and said “No, Bob isn’t me”. It was getting absurd.

So he sat down and crafted his polar opposite:

Wanda, a 87 year old female who lived in Argentina but was of nordic descent. Wanda gardened her whole life, had 10 children, married, divorced, and remarried 4 times, and spoke only a rare dialect of Himalayan folk language. Wanda ate nothing but carrots, drank coconut water, did not drive, but did enjoy ice skating and skiing when the weather allowed. She was also an irate, angry, bitter woman who nobody liked.

Satisfied, the writer penned Wanda’s first story. A simple piece about her gardening, a task that the writer himself actually abhorred, and learning a life lesson through radishes. He sent it to his publisher, and it appeared in his regular column in the next weeks paper.

The day after its publication, another email came in. The writer was overjoyed to see it was positive about Wanda’s story, and didn’t draw any allusion to the writer’s own life. That is, of course, until the last line, which read…

“Man, I never knew you had multiple personalities – next time Wanda comes out, give me a call – I gotta speak to her!”

Disappointment © by quinn.anya

[SSDay]

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#46 The Lake

The lake rolls by, it’s water holding the experiences of its embraced.

The child who learned to swim by paddling to her mother.

The teenager who learned about love and lust on the sandy beach.

The group of good buddies who talked about life’s conquests while launching the jet skis.

The group of middle-agers desperately hoping the boat will enforce family time with the fleeing teenagers.

The solitary man who tells his life story to the dog who sleeps, and fish he catches.

The same water, binding like the collective unconsciousness. A soul of its own.

 

Lake Erie
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#34 A Literal World

“Ouch! That burned a bit”, Amiee said as she felt a warm heat on the back of her neck.

“What was that”, she asked her friend Mary.

“Dragonfly, probably”, Mary responded. “Sometimes their fire breath gets a bit intense!”.

About an hour earlier, Amiee had walked along minding her own business when a rock appeared out of nowhere and tripped her (Amiee wasn’t exactly the most careful person in the world, so it’s possible the rock was there the whole time, and she simply failed to adjust her course). Mary found her a few moments later, unconscious. Since she woke up, after having only been unconscious for a minute, things started getting strange.

“What happened?”, Mary asked as she peered at the wound on Amiee’s forehead.

“I must have tripped”, Amiee responded.

“Well, we’d better get that cleaned out”, Mary said as she guided Amiee toward her home. Her mother, Mrs. Black, came outside as the girls approached.

“What happened!?! Did anyone else see her trip? What’s going on?”, she asked, and Amiee let Mary explain the short story of it. Amiee couldn’t help but notice that something was different about Mrs. Black. She was moving from side to side, as if she couldn’t keep comfortable in her own skin. As they were washing out the cut, Mary spoke of her mother.

“Sorry about Mom – she always needs to be about everyone’s business. She means well though”. Mary said. Once they finished up, they returned to the park where they’d both been walking. It was there that Amiee saw the strangest bird. It appeared to be wearing a black hat and cloak. Why would a bird be wearing clothing?

“Look at that bird”, Amiee exclaimed.

“What? It’s just a mourning dove”, Mary said as she glanced at the animal.

“But why is he wearing black clothing?”, Amiee said. She was relieved when Mary failed to respond with something challenging her view of the bird.

“Well because he’s a mourning dove, silly! Never have quite understood whom they mourn for though.”, Mary said in reply.

Amiee was amazed, and while she stood there thinking, Mary pulled her to the side as a whooshing sound was heard, and the wind swished by them. Amiee saw something flash past, multiple colors and sounds intermingling, but she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Those boys always rush through here like a freight train”, Mary said. Amiee was astounded – they certainly had. What was going on here? How did one small trip change the world into a place where there was no such thing as a figure of speech, everything was literally as it sounded.

“Mary”, Amiee began, “Did anything out of the ordinary happen while I was unconscious”.

“No, not that I can think of”, Mary said. “You hit your head and cut it, and were out for a moment or two. Nothing happened here”.

“But everything that we talk about is literally occurring”, Amiee said.

“Of course it is – it would be strange if I had told you something different from what was really happening, right?”, Mary replied.

“No – it’s hard to explain Mary, but before I hit my head, I was in a world where we used language differently – we spoke about things using examples. The mourning dove was named because of its call similar to a cry – not because he was really in mourning”, Amiee said.

Mary looked at her for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong with her friend.

“I think we should go to the hospital”, Mary said, and Amiee reluctantly agreed. As they walked into the emergency room, Amiee slumped over in her friend’s arms, and the attendants took her quickly into examination.

—

“Amiee”, a voice said as Amiee opened her eyes and began to focus. It was her mother.

“Mrs. Black called me and told me that you were here – I drove like lightning to get here”. Amiee was relieved that she didn’t see any visible scorch marks on her mother.

“Mom… my head hurts”, Amiee said.

“I know it does sweetie, but it will get better. You were out for about 10 minutes, and it had us very worried when you were groggy for so long. You had a fever, but that seems to have broken now”. her mother explained.

“What happened?”, Amiee asked.

“When you hit your head and cut yourself, you stumbled into a bush. Apparently you’re allergic to something in it, and the cut made the allergy even worse.”, her mother said.

“Mom, do fireflies breathe fire?”, Amiee asked.

“Of course they don’t, honey”, her mother chuckled.

“Language is weird”, Amiee said, as she smiled at her mom.

[SSDay]

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#33 Eeek!

“Eeek!”, the author exclaimed.

“What is it?”, was said in reply.

“I didn’t write my story for today yet”, was all she heard as he flew to his computer.

“Now what can I write about…”, he said, as visions of sugar plums and dynamite, cannons and catnip, dragons and bagpipes, and all other forms of fancy arrived into his consciousness.

“But should it be serious?”, he thought as he banished the humor from his brain. Proverbs and wisdom, wit and thoughtfulness fluttered into the fingers. Maybe he should write about how life is short, or how self-imposed problems are long, or how annoying car alarms are when you’re trying to write.

“Light-hearted fiction” he thought, as he envisioned a story entitled “99 ways to murder that guy who can’t keep his car alarm from going off during my writing”, or perhaps one called “How to get your cat to stop biting your toes while you sleep”. Oh the possibilities could be endless – or had he used that phrase before in this story? Sugar plums? No, he’d definitely used that before. At least he didn’t write “sugar plus”, which he caught just in the nick of time. Otherwise one might think he was writing ad copy for the latest sugar substitute.

“But what should it be about? I have an audience to entertain”, he mused. “Perhaps they won’t notice if I blow off one night. Maybe they’ll be too entertained with Jim the Bunny and Jabberpaw and all those dark depressing stories I’ve written in the past few weeks to notice that #33 is phoned int!”. The plan began to take shape in his mind. He’d rush to his computer and just type any darn thing that came to his fingers. His 1 or 2 faithful readers wouldn’t notice – and if they did, maybe they’d be entertained, or at least bemused.

“Well, it’s not like they’re paying anything for it”, he said as he comforted himself. He’d come up with a better, more fleshed out idea tomorrow, he assured himself. Until then, they’d just have to deal with this quickly conceived and ill-designed short work of semi-fiction!

[SSDay]

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#32 A Happy Story

Tony couldn’t believe his eyes – all the numbers matched. He’d won the lottery on the same day that his wife came back and his dog survived a near-fatal disease! This really capped off a stellar week – it had only been a few days since his estranged daughter phoned to tell him that she forgave him, that she’d gotten married, and that she had just given birth to twins that Tony absolutely had to come meet. Especially since her activist husband was in Europe accepting a Nobel prize, and she needed someone to look after the twins while she attended a few board meetings.

It’s hard to believe, but Tony didn’t always have this sort of luck. Previously he’d suffered some extreme setbacks in his life, all of which I could write about but they’d just annoy you and make you sad. Isn’t it a lot better if I just focus a bit more on how totally awesome and great Tony’s life had become? I mean, the man was now a multimillionaire with an awesome family, a magical dog, and professional fulfillment (Oh how careless of me – I forgot to mention that he was bought the lottery ticket after attending the launch party for his new business). Yep, life was great for Tony.

Author’s Note: I can write happy stories… I just don’t tend to since they’re pretty bland!

[SSDay]

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What is Jon’s “Short Story A Day?”

List Updated Through #70!

For the past month two and a half months I’ve been posting a variety of original stories and poems here. If you aren’t a regular visitor, you probably haven’t noticed them since I haven’t published them to Twitter or any other network. But since we’ve gotten to the 1 month mark (even if it is a small month), I figured I’d unveil them to the public.

We’ve got 29 stories so far, if you want to check them out. A few focus on a cast of recurring characters that live in the Woods, a few are serious, and some are quite odd poems. Here’s a quick roadmap based on grouping. Enjoy!

The Jim The Bunny Series

The Stories

The Poems, Drawings, and Other Stuff!

There you have it – the first month. I do have a goal in mind for how many Short Stories of the Day to write. But for the immediate future, feel free to check back here regularly to see what new things I’ve written in the series. I’d love to hear your comments as well!

Update! We’re now up to 70(!) stories, many more than the 29 I wrote about in February! Here’s the new items!

The Jim The Bunny Series

The Stories

The Poems

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#18 Jumping off the Page

Bob sat down to write the story. He’d had the idea incubating for a number of years, but it was never complete until that day when he realized what the best resolution for the story could be. He was eager, and opened up the word document he’d been keeping for, what seemed like, an eternity. Today he’d write the last 1000 words, and be done. He felt giddy with excitement.

About 10 minutes into his writing, he heard a noise behind him. He turned to find a beautiful woman standing there. She was dressed conservatively, but could not hide her shape.

“Do I know you”, he said to her. She smiled.

“Yes, although we haven’t met in real life”.

“How did you get in? What’s your handle online?”, he realized that she couldn’t answer both questions at the same time, but each was equally nagging to him. He didn’t live in the best part of town, so his doors were always locked. And not living in the best part of town meant he found a great deal of companionship with friends online. He had over 1000 Facebook friends, surely she must have been one of them who was able to find him.

“I don’t know how I got in”, she said.

“What do you mean?”, he replied.

“One minute I was standing out in my backyard, and the next minute I was here”.

She didn’t seem like she was lying, and something about her felt oddly familiar.

“Where do you know me from?”, he said, as he stood up.

“We know each other from…”, she stopped. “Well, from…”. This continued about a half-dozen times, she would begin to speak but stop herself, with a puzzled look coming over her face.

“I don’t know how I know you”, she said, reluctantly. “But I do – you’re very familiar to me”.

He felt the same way, and had the same odd feeling of knowing the mystery woman beyond a passing meeting. He took a pen and scrap of paper and began to write down random facts about her, as they came to his mind.

“Are any of these right?”, he said, handing her the paper.

“They’re spot-on”, she said. “My name is Calissa, I live in the southwest, and I’m a bit of a workaholic”. He’d included the last one, feeling a bit bad. After all, that could be taken either way, as a compliment or a character flaw. She seemed to gravitate toward the latter.

“What do you know about me?”, he asked.

“Nothing specific – I don’t even know where this place is. It just seems really familiar”. She stood there, across from him, as he tried to put the pieces together. Suddenly, he rushed to his computer, a look of horror coming over his face.

“Calissa – but nobody calls you that – they call you Kelly – right?”. She nodded.

“Oh God! This isn’t possible”. He quickly punched CTRL-F on his keyboard, typed “Calissa” into the find box. It returned the first result.

Calissa never was there for him, she was always working, always off on some business trip or personal errand. In brief moments, Robert could see the shadow of her former self. The old Calissa, before the world happened and she adopted the nickname. Here he was again, alone at the house. She’d walked outside, but when he looked for her, she’d disappeared. 

She looked over his shoulder in disbelief. He quickly saved the document and minimized it.

“Why do you have details about my life written down there? Have you been stalking me?”, she asked accusatorially.

“Kelly, this is kind of hard to explain”, he said, as he offered her a seat, and sat down himself. “You’re someone I made up, years ago, in my story”.

“That’s impossible! I’m as real as you are”, she replied incredulously.

“And yet you don’t know how you got here, and I know a lot about you, and you know little about me other than familiarity”. He replied.

“So how did I get here”, she asked.

“I don’t know”, he said. “Maybe it was something I wrote”.

He opened up the word document again, and read the last paragraph:

He was changing everything, out with the old, in with something unknown. Everyone he knew he was casting out, starting with the frigid girl he rarely saw

“Robert thinks I’m frigid!?!”, she had read over his shoulder once more.

“I guess he does – when I write I sorta lose myself in it. I guess Robert was cleaning house, and you were something he cleaned out. But how you got here, how you became as real to me as I am, I have no idea”.

–

They found him 4 days after the leak had been discovered and fixed. They didn’t know his house had been affected. It wasn’t until he’d been reported missing that they went searching. He’d gone quickly, slumped over the keyboard of his computer. On the screen, they found his final words.

“He had changed his mind, he wanted her back. After all they had been through, they were finally together again. “I love you Bob”, she said as they drifted off to sleep.

[SSDay]

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#6 – An Open Letter to the Coffee Bean

Dear Mr. Bean,

I feel compelled to write an open letter to you on behalf of my many friends who display a certain addiction to you. While I, myself, enjoy a cup of coffee on a regular basis, I have yet to experience all mood changes, productivity lapses, anti-social behavior incidents, temporary bouts of insanity, and other acts of tomfoolery attributed to the absence of your caffeine goodness. Others I know, however, are a different story.

There’s Mr. X who is quite perplexed at daily affairs without warm care.
There’s Mrs. Y who would rather die than live without you for a day or two.
There’s Mr. Zed who’s liable to lose his head if during a fight you should decide to take flight.
There’s Mrs. A, who just today, told me she was addicted as I had predicted.
There’s Mr. B who I never see without a mug of your warm drug.
There’s Mrs. C who would be quite irate without her brewed mate.
There’s Mr. D who, just like B, appears quite the scene without you, Mr. Bean
There’s Mrs. E who longs to be in your embrace during the rat race.
There’s Mr. F who seems bereft as he drowns the last sip of your soft nip.
There’s Mrs. G, a widow you see, who once drank tea but abandoned him for ye.
There’s Mr. H who with I can relate, he wonders aloud why your devotees are so avowed.
There’s Mrs. I who wishes she could be dry, your spell holds her tighter than any guy.

And finally there is Me, a gold card member you see, who is beyond your spell – I don’t need you I tell! I just wish that in time, I could drop all this rhyme. Without relying on your frequent aid!

Sincerely,
Mr. J.

[SSDay]

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#1 Bob the Turtle & Jim The Bunny

It’s been a pretty stressful month for me, so to release, I figure I should start a new creative writing project called A Short Story a Day. Today’s short story is a bit whimsical (and uses a bit of ‘strong’ language, so reader discretion is advised) and is my start on this journey. Let’s see if I can make it to my end goal, which I will keep to myself!

Bob the Turtle & Jim The Bunny

 

Once upon a time there was a turtle named Bob. Bob decided to go for a walk one day, and unfortunately toppled himself onto his hard shell back. Bob was helpless, but fortunately spied his friend Jim the bunny.

 

“Jim, help me get flipped back over”, cried Bob.

 

“You got the 5 bucks you owe me Bob?”, replied Jim.

 

“Damnit Jim, I told you, I’m not paying you back that $5 – you told me lunch was on you!”, retorted the upsided-down Bob.

 

“Whoa – not on your life you lying green reptile bastard! I told you I’d give you $5 for a soda and fries, and you said you’d pay me back”, said Jim.

 

“Can’t we talk about this after I can see you right-side up?”, asked Bob.

 

“Hell no!”, replied Jim, “You gonna give me that $5 or are you going to stay upside down?”.

 

Bob thought about this for a moment. Disregarding the fact that Jim had clearly given him the $5 during lunch time yesterday, and disregarding the fact that Jim was being a real prick about this, seeing that Bob was upside down and all, Bob decided to capitulate.

 

“Fine jackass, flip me and I’ll give you the $5”, replied Bob.

 

Jim came over and head-butted Bob back onto his feet. Bob fished out a €5 note and gave it to Jim.

 

“What the hell is this Bob? I said $5, not this funny European paper”, replied Jim.

 

“It’s all I got! And it’s worth more than $5 you dummy”, said Bob.

 

“But now I gotta go to the bank and exchange it – they don’t take Euros down at Bunnymart you ass”, said Jim as he hopped away.

 

The End

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