Short Stories – Oh Danny Boy!

Times Change

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

That night in the summer of 1963 was especially hot in Detroit. That didn’t matter for a thirteen year old boy. My dad had purchased tickets in the center field bleachers for two dollars each. Tonight was going to be magic. It was the Tigers vs. the New York Yankees. Al Kaline, Rocky Cocovito, and Norm Cash for the Tigers against Whitey Ford, Stan Williams and Yogi Berra for the Yankees.

I sat there for the entire nine innings with my baseball glove on ready for what I was sure to be a home run ball.

Pedro’s

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

For the last 35 miles there had been 73 (he counted them) signs advertising Pedro’s restaurant. The kids in back read aloud every one. Actually it became a shouting contest between them.

“Your Always A wiener at Pedro’s.”

“You Never Sausage a place.”

“Pedro’s Weather Report: Chile Today, Hot Tamale.”

And the most appropriate one: “Keep Yelling Kids They’ll Stop.”

He knew they were in trouble when they crested the slow climb of I-95 into South Carolina. Looking to his right he saw what once was Pedro’s.

As they passed by the last sign said: “Back Up Amigo, You Missed It.”

Hardscrabble

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

He retired from the military financially broke. Some thought his drinking was the cause of his poverty. Some thought it was because he was taken advantage of by his friends. Writing his autobiography was the only way to support his family. He wrote outdoors in his distinctive script with his woolen scull cap to keep him warm. Neighbors and enslaved laborers helped him build this ugly log cabin. Julia did her best to decorate the place. Despite all their efforts the little house looked so unattractive that they called it hardscrabble.

Early Spring

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, where the challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words of less using the picture prompt below.

Photo Prompt Credit ==== Roger Bullet

Spring came early that year. He had not planned on early warm temperatures. Climate change was spoiling his plan. The snowplow had covered the black plastic sealed shoe less body in over six feet of snow three days ago.

His internet searches gave him an estimate of two weeks before the under staffed snow removal teams would clear enough for the body to be visible to anyone passing by. Plenty of time to escape.

The snowplow driver had one more street to plow before his shift was over when he heard someone shout, “Raise the damn plow.”

A Brackish Death

Their relationship fell apart after three months in the wilderness. She missed the city life. He loved nature and hated the hustle and bustle of the city. The final fight was nasty. More violent than he expected. She put up quite a fight. When she left the city she told her friends she would never return. She was correct.

The brackish waters off the Kenai Fjords in remote Alaska provided the perfect place to dispose of her body.

He watched the final bubbles from her last breaths disappear beneath the water. Her replacement would be difficult to find. But not impossible. He had work to begin his search.

RDP Monday….Brackish.

451

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words of less. My story follows the picture prompt below.

“What’s going on?” Roger asked. Rarely had he seen so many people crammed into the town’s library. Looking around he noticed people who he knew for a fact had never been a library in their entire life.

“Cindy called a meeting to discuss our current inventory of books,” replied Brenda, the school librarian since 1962. She claims there are books our kids would find offensive.

“What kind of books,” said Roger.

“The ones that talk about gender identify, the LGBTQ books, enslavement, sex and religion.”

Roger looked in horror as Cindy picked up a can of kerosene.

He Started to Smell

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt below.

That’s why I had to get rid of him. The abandon trailer was soiled and reeked of mold and rotting food. He showed up smelling of booze and cigarettes. I shared what little I had with him. I discovered he had no money. The question than came as to how to get rid of him. The butcher knife needed cleaning anyway. Every day after that I had to step over him to get to my truck. His body fit perfectly in my large tool box on the truck. The desert never gives up its dead. They just rot away.

Table For One

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a complete story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less. My story follows the picture prompt below.

“How many in your party sir?“

“Just myself tonight.”

“The name on the reservation?”

“I don’t have one. Just arrived in town.”

“Appears to be around a twenty minute wait sir.”

“Perhaps I could have one of those empty tables behind you?

“Sorry sir, those are all reserved.”

While waiting I glanced at my black face in the gold framed mirror in the waiting area and wondered.

Pea Shooter

This post is written for Friday Fictioneers.

The pea hit me in the back of my neck. Turning around, I always sat in the front, I saw Kent smiling with his hands folded on his desk with an innocent smug smile on his ugly mug. Ignoring him I turned around and tried to focus on what Mr. Baldwin, whose thick black glasses were always sliding down his large nose, was saying about personal hygiene. Almost all of us hated health class.

Another pea whizzed by my ear and landed on the floor in front of Mr. Baldwin. Picking up the pea Mr. Baldwin motioned me forward.

Easier Said Than Done

This post is submitted to Friday Fictioneers. The challenge is to write a story with a beginning, middle and end in 100 words or less. My story follow the picture prompt below.

I hawk my father’s precious, but not fully appreciated, art work outside our ridiculous expensive rented space to tourists who have no idea how much talent is involved in their purchase.

I did not want to return to this busy, ugly, dirty city. My father says to try and embrace the city as it is, not some childhood memory that makes you both nostalgic and sick. Embrace it and make its fault your own.

Somewhere a lyric from a song plays in my mind. “Easier said then done.”

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