Tag Archives: Short Fiction


Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Thursday, February 2, 2012

Time to write another short story, but I’m not sure what I should write about. ..Hm. Should that be “about what I should write,” so I don’t end up with a dangling preposition? I don’t care. I don’t like the way it sounds.

I need a storyline. You know, a plot, not to be confused with a “plat” which is a drawing of a lot, versus “Gersplat!” which is the sound you make when you fall off a building onto the pavement, followed by “buh-bump” when the bus runs you over just when you started to get up.

I haven’t written a detective story for a while.

Maybe Mary will be horny and stop by after she gets home from work. Do I mind being her go to guy for an occasional quickie? Are you kidding? You haven’t seen Mary. Actually, yes I do mind. She hangs out with me. We have a great time talking, laughing at stuff, rubbing body parts. She even stays over some nights, always at my place for some reason. Heck, I know the reason. We’re good together in every respect, except in public. That’s because she has a boyfriend. He’s a dentist. How boring is that?


Last Picked

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Friday, December 30, 2011


“Hey. ..I’m just finishing up. What can I..”

“Some of us are going out for burgers, the little Happy Hour kind. Why don’t you join us?”

“Well, for one thing, I don’t eat beef and I have absolutely no social graces.”

“Why don’t you eat beef? Is it a religious thing?”

“No. It’s a saturated fat thing.”

“What about forks? Do you eat with your fingers, or do you use forks?”

“Only when I order soup.”

“Great. What more can a girl ask? You’ll fit in perfectly.”

Bathroom Windows

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Tuesday, December 27, 2011

“Hey, Jaime.”

There was, he had decided some time ago on the day they had started sleeping together, no more friendly greeting than a beautiful woman calling out to you from her shower. They weren’t lovers, not exactly, just friends who had sex occasionally. It was the casual pleasure of it all that he found so irresistible, that made him so glad he’d rented her the cabin next door.

Years ago, when his grandparents bought the land along the bayside of the ocean inlet, their family and friends thought it was a nice thing, but a waste of money. So far off the beaten path, the only way there was a dirt road that stopped at the dunes, a good mile from where they built the small cottages so close to each other, one for themselves and, later, another for Jaime’s parents. Over the years they’d built more, a total of twenty, renting the others out whenever they could find a tenant which wasn’t often then, but pretty much all the time now that the ocean side of the peninsula was crowded with condos, hotels, stores and clubs. Most of his grandfather’s property, several times the land occupied by the cottages, remained wild and untouched by development.

Decades after his grandparents first vacationed there, Jaime was his family’s sole survivor. A good guy addicted to writing, he lived there year around, essentially for free, enjoying the quiet of the bayside and the easy going excitement of the ocean city nearby. He wrote mostly screenplays, perfecting his art in lazy anticipation of the story he was sure some Hollywood producer would buy someday.

Interview With An Alien

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Monday, December 19, 2011

“So. What do I call you?”

“Bob. I like ‘Bob.’ It’s simple, friendly and it’s a palindrome.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s spelled the same way forward and backward.”

“And that’s handy because…?”

“It’s just neat.”

“I see. Okay, let’s…”

In the unfurnished apartment next door, two people sitting at folding tables are recording and watching the conversation on three flat screen monitors. One of them is a man in his fifties, a senior psychologist with an unspecified government organization. The other, a woman in her early thirties, the FBI agent who’d caught this assignment. Yellow pads are out, but without much on them. It’s a low priority case, the first one the FBI agent has been given to handle on her own. A single, perfunctory Homeland Security guard is leaning on the kitchen counter, playing something on his cell phone. A specially reinforced front door on the other apartment, with radio controlled locks, negated the need for anyone in the hallway.

Dear Journal,

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Thursday, December 8, 2011

11:20 PM. He’s in bed. It’s dark, except for some faint light coming through the bedroom window blinds and the not so bright lamp on his night table.



“It’s me, Journal. ..You were expecting Ryan Gosling?”

“I was hoping for Ryan Reynolds.”

“Yeah, right. Well if you were Scarlett.. Scarlett..?”


“Whatever, the one with the body that won’t quit, I could be Ryan Reynolds.”

“They broke up.”

“Really? Do you have her number?”

The De-Creeping of Ross

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Monday, December 5, 2011

Leaning up against the desk inside his carrel, one of a cluster with short walls, his legs crossed, his arms folded, Ross was busy watching the girls go by. For most men, it was an innocent enough, casual if not altogether discreet hobby. For Ross, it defined him. Charlie, in the adjacent carrel, was focused on the work for which the five of them in their team were collectively responsible. The less Ross did, and it was hard for him to do any less, the more slack Charlie and the others had to pick up.

“Hey.” Ross had been watching the elevator doors.

“What?” Charlie responded, not bothering to look up from his screen.

“Take a look at Katherine. Could she be any more…”

The God Hunter

Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Preface… This is the second in a series that began with “Stranger on the Bus“. If you haven’t read it yet, you need to read it first. It’s about an exceptional individual living among us, seemingly one of us, but special in ways not even he fully appreciates, a stranger without knowledge of his origins, purpose or destiny, still finding his way.

What you or I believe isn’t important, only what happened. I’m only asking that you read the first two and others in the series with an open mind – because you have no choice, because, like everything I write, except for a few details, this is a true story.

This second installment begins a few months later, on a Friday evening in early October.