J2571

The wind picked up again. I pushed down my skirt and held it between my knees, shivering a little. I thought about leaving again. I thought about standing up and zipping up my jacket and then walking past everyone in the bleachers and out of the baseball stadium. I thought about taking the bus home and walking up the steps and pushing through the door and explaining to Mom that I just couldn't stand being at that stupid baseball game when Dad was as sick as he was. Even if it was my big brother Todd's first big game and someone from the family needed to be there to support him. And then I thought about how that was such a stupid idea and that

You unzip your jacket and take it off, stowing it in your backpack. You also reach down to your belt and flick off the flashlight clipped there; the night is warmer and brighter than you'd anticipated. A gentle breeze comes through the trees of the sparse forest; you close your eyes and stretch out your arms to better feel the air flowing around you. You tilt back your head and look at the sky. The moon glows intensely, drowning out its more subtle features, a slightly misshapen disk of white. The moon's glow illuminates all of the night sky, making the nearby trees and the faraway mountains stand more blackly against the deep indigo of the s

Sherman knocked timidly on the trailer door. "Come on in," said Kurt, distractedly, from inside the trailer. Sherman cautiously opened the door and stepped inside the office. Kurt, the project manager, was sitting at his desk, sorting through expense reports and project timelines. He glanced up from his paperwork at Sherman. "What can I do for you, Mr. Harriman?" he asked, turning back to an equipment order. Sherman cleared his throat nervously, removing his hard hat and holding it in front of him with both hands. "Well, it's Mr. Sykes, sir." Kurt looked up again. "What about him? Is he sick? Did he have a stroke or something?" Sherma

Desperate, I grabbed the antique katana and rushed at the samurai on my couch. Anticipating my strike, he swiftly removed something from a sheath at his waist and parried my blow. I went sprawling backward, the katana clattering to the ground behind me. Straightening my glasses, I looked up at the small object clenched in his fist. "PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN SWORD!" he bellowed, proudly displaying the cheap Bic ballpoint that had deflected my attack. Knowing in my heart that what he said was true, but yet not ready to accept it, I grabbed a mace from the coffee table and steeled myself for another go. So continued my epic struggle with Writer's

As per usual, you go for a stroll in the quiet afternoon. As per usual, you see the young lovers stretched out on a quilt in the park. As per usual, you see the old lovers happily feeding ducks at the pond. As per usual, you see the poor man caught in the self-perpetuating temporal vortex. "Help me!" he cries, "Take my hand!" You appraise the hand as he slowly starts to be sucked back into the blackish-purple void that has already swallowed his lower torso. You consider taking his hand this time, but before you can act the vortex accelerates and pulls him back ferociously. When the last of his fingers disappears into the blackness, the

Sir Atwood glanced at his pocketwatch. It was 12:07. Looking up, he shifted his attention to his daughter, Becky, standing with her back to him at the end of the chapel's aisle. For a moment, he was caught up in fatherly pride at the sight of his daughter, pure and beautiful in her white wedding dress. Then, he noticed her tremble, and his worries returned. Despite her impeccable upbringing, the stress of the situation was testing Becky's resolve. "Counfound that useless man!" he muttered. His wife gave him a gentle rap with her fan. "Mind your temper, James," she said, not taking her eyes off of her daughter. "I won't stand for it!" he s

You sit on the floor in the darkened room, head in your hands, back against the door. Lights from outside gradually illuminate the room, casting oblique shadows on the walls and then fading to darkness again. Sounds from outside also enter the room, but they come in muffled, distorted. You wonder whether that's because of the walls or your own efforts to distance yourself from everything going on outside. You sit like this for a while, unthinking, unfeeling, unmoving. You try to tell yourself that you need to stand up and leave, that things won't be any better for your staying here. No matter what you tell yourself, though, your feet remain

Before she was even born, her parents decided they’d call her Rose. Some saw this as quite fortuitous, as no one could have predicted that the baby girl would have inherited her father’s auburn hair. Neither could they have known that even the slightest giggle would bring a bright red tinge to her cheeks. Friends and family flocked to see her. Somehow each person who entered the hospital room became an oracle, blessed with the gift of foresight. They proclaimed little Rose would be an athlete, a scholar, an artist; one overzealous soul insisted she’d be elected President. Though they squabbled about just how she might shape

The only thing was that the honey bear was missing. I mean, I could tell that stuff had been rearranged in the pantry. She'd been rummaging through it, for sure. Maybe "rummaging" isn't quite the right word; the pasta strewn about on the floor and the broken, leaking jar of tomato sauce implied a bit more violence than simple rummaging. So she was probably upset. And, yeah, given that tirade we had last night, I'm not entirely surprised. Nor do I begrudge her anything; she's got every right. But I thought it ended well. Or, at least, as well as we've ended things before. Like, we wouldn't speak for a day, I'd scrub the bathroom while she w

"Shoot!" The two men threw their fists into their empty, waiting hands. An audible gasp escaped from Fletcher's lips as both men surveyed their hands. Millikan slowly moved his flat, empty palm over Fletcher's still-clenched fist. "Paper beats rock," he said, slowly. Fletcher snapped his fingers as he stamped his foot. "Confound it!" he exclaimed before letting out his breath and putting his hands behind his head. Millikan laughed. "You can curse if you like, Fletcher, it's just the two of us. I won't tell your...pastor, is it?" Fletcher laughed. "Bishop, actually, but that won't be an issue. I just got myself caught up in the moment