On Sand and Asphalt, Part 3

This is part three of a nine part series I will be publishing over the next several weeks. Please comment, question, critique, and criticize. With your help, I hope to work this into a successful story. ♦ Lights and Sirens Sally walked up sunny 17th Street. She saw a flashing fire truck and an open…

On Sand and Asphalt, Part 2

This is part two of a nine part series I will be publishing over the next several weeks. Please comment, question, critique, and criticize. With your help, I hope to work this into a successful story. ♦ Damn that Last Drink After about twenty-five cigarettes in about two minute’s time, I gave up. Poor sleep,…

On Sand and Asphalt, Part 1

This is part one of a nine part series I will be publishing over the next several weeks. Please comment, question, critique, and criticize. With your help, I hope to work this into a successful story. ♦ In the Pit of Her Stomach Sally walked home from her usual hangout, stumbling and singing: Bud Light,…

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The Time of Her Life

When I crossed the metal threshold my heart beat one hard chest-quaking beat and forced my breath out of my lungs. That line, the distinct dingy hallway carpet onto polished hardwood floor metal line that separated outside from inside, unsafe from safe. The one I had crossed unscathed on countless evenings. The exposed-brick wall stood as it did…

That yet we sleep, we dream

“Are you sure That we are awake? It seems to me That yet we sleep, we dream.” ~A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare 10:46 PM. I closed my eyes. I was asleep before I finished my first breath. I left my house, though it wasn’t my house, or rather, it wasn’t my current house. It…

Where Life Was Beautiful

She woke up surrounded by blinded darkness in a room she was not quite familiar with. The street light forced its way through a slit in the vertical blinds, pushing against the navy-blue curtains. It managed one small stripe of dull, dirty, white light on the red goose down comforter. Her eyes blinked to adjust,…

I thought we’d never come back from that one

The “A Midget Stripper Stole My Phone” Story Her name is Heather and after she has had a few cocktails she likes to tell the story of a stripper stealing her cell phone. She swears she thinks it’s the funniest thing because it’s true. Everyone always laughs on cue, but then everyone stops laughing because they realize…

Slash and Burn

Daily Prompt: Write 500 words on any topic you like. Now remove 250 of them without changing the essence of your post. 250 words, slashed and burned “Who wrote Metamorphosis? It was Kafka, wasn’t it?” asked Judy. “No, you dumb-ass!” hollered Mike. “Watch your mouth,” said Mom. “Kafka was a dictator in the 1930’s,” continued Mike.