Tag Archives: Short Fiction

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.

“Hellohhhh.”

“Hello?”

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

“I was hoping for Ryan Reynolds.”

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

“Johansson.”

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

“They broke up.”

“Really? Do you have her number?”
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Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Monday, November 7, 2011

It was late, almost 8:30, too late to walk home and go back out for dinner, and something about the light rain on a cool fall night made the thought of getting carryout even more dismal than usual. Tonight, he would unwind at this bistro, in the middle of the block on one the local streets that wound their way between the boulevards.

“Hey, Bobby.” It was Carla, on her way to the bar to pick up some beers for one of her tables, one of the waitresses who recognized him as a regular.

“You know my name isn’t ‘Bobby,’ don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” she smiled back at him. “It just feels right whenever I say it. ..Go ahead. Sit anywhere you want. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
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Short Fiction for Guests of the Wordfeeder
Monday, October 17, 2011

“I don’t understand why everyone’s so upset.” Alisha, now Assistant to the new CEO, stood outside the outgoing CEO’s office, talking fast, the way she did, in a loud whisper to her girl friend, Mel, whose arms were full of supplies. By outgoing, in this case, we mean “dead.”

“I know.” Mel widened her eyes and tilted her head in agreement. “Sure, he founded the place. I get it, but the guy was like over 90 years old.”

“Even so, you know, he was in great shape, for his age I mean. You know Wendy in Accounting?”

“Sure. We used to chat when I was on her floor, until her hearing started to go.”

“Well she’s employee number eight or something, definitely less than 10, and she says the old man was never a day sick, not so much as a cold.”

“I’m no doctor, but I’m thinking you’re less likely to get sick if you never leave the office.”

“True. He did work hard, right ‘til the end. ..He may have been old, but he seemed fine to me, until his head hit the hardwood.” Alisha rolled her eyes in the direct of the bookcase inside the old man’s office where his body had been found.

“Shouldn’t there be a chalk outline or something?”

“That’s only if he’d been murdered.”
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