Posted in Creative Writing, Fiction, Short Stories, tagged death, Writing, Fiction, Creative Writing, Short Stories, drugs, Overdose, Plane crash, Morbid, Change of Mood, Luck on July 4, 2008 | 10 Comments »
Here’s the thing that’ll make this story a little bit different. Right here, somewhere in the first few paragraphs, will be the end. The spoiler.
Ready?
Really, I’m going to skip the beginning and shoot straight on through to the end.
Okay, here.
By the end of this story, everyone in it will be dead.
There will be no one [...]
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This isn’t yet where you’re supposed to apologize.
Not yet.
This is in her car.
The two of us.
And I’m telling her, it’s ok, people do this kind of thing all the time.
She’s stopped talking.
Stopped apologizing.
But I still hear her.
She’s spinning those words through her head.
Around and around.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
This is our second time meeting [...]
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The splinter’s been in his hand for three days. Under the skin, it’s black, stained with old dried blood. The area around this little nuisance is red, swollen and tender. It’s infected.
This little foreign object, this sliver of wood, this dagger, is stuck somewhere in the middle of the web that stretches from his thumb [...]
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Posted in Fiction, Short Stories, tagged Beautiful, Creative Writing, Fiction, Friends, Heartbreak, Loss, Short Stories, Short story, Writing on April 27, 2008 | 5 Comments »
I have a goldfish that swims in right hand circles in a bowl that sits on a shelf in my room. There’s something wrong with its left eye. I think it’s probably blind in that eye. This goldfish is orange and white, with random black spots of different shapes and sizes on its body, [...]
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Posted in Fiction, Short Stories, tagged Creative Writing, death, Fiction, Mourning, murder, Poison, Short Stories, Writing on April 20, 2008 | 2 Comments »
She talks to the cool air that blankets and rides the waves and swells. Her feet, white as porcelain, slowly turning purple, and as wrinkled as a bathing child’s fingertips, struggle to keep their grip on the polished rocks. Her black dress is pressed flat to her thighs, her stomach and breasts by the [...]
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