Fueled By Antisocial - a short story

Fueled by Antisocial - As Opposed to Antimatter (Fiction 101 Series)

It was quiet valued by most. Most of the time it fueled the asteroid belt Dysfunction ships. Ships with a passenger manifest filled with anyone diagnosed with antisocial behavior. Behavior that led to such isolation most everyone was alone. Alone and contained for their respective destinations. Destinations that decreased with each delivery. Deliveries that decreased the quantity of antisocial for any chance of a return trip back to Earth. Earth, the place where antisocial became scarce and travel no longer of interest to anyone. Anyone and everyone lost the curiosity of exploration and discovery once antisocial was exhausted. Exhausted by everyone. 

Bookmarks - a short story (Special Edition)

Bookmarks – a short story

She reached for her bookmark, but it wasn’t where she left it. She asked her husband, “Have you seen my bookmark? I know I left it on the end table,”

“I’m reading the same book,” he responded. “Remember, the library only had one copy. Maybe you left it in your favorite chapter,” he pointed at the book.

She turned back several pages for the most recent bookmark and held it in her hand. But there were more – more bookmarks sticking out of her mystery novel. She flipped back through the pages and stopped at every bookmark. She reread those pages and smiled in fond memory. She looked around her family room at the many photographs of grandchildren and great-grandchildren and smiled again. Then, as she continued, she realized that many of the pages had been erased. Mysteriously, this also made her smile since these were the pages with errors. She looked up at the cross on the wall with a tear and closed her thankful eyes.

Then she turned back to where she left off that morning and turned the page to continue. But it was blank. Not erased. It was just blank. So were the remaining pages of the novel. She appeared a bit perplexed – at first.

“What is it, my dear?” Her husband asked.

Her smile was her answer. She set the bookmark down and picked up a pen. She gazed out the window, at the photographs and at the cross on the wall, and then back into her husband’s eyes – and began to write.

 

The Reform Club - a short story

The Reform Club (Fiction 101 Series)

Arthur rocked back with a deep gasp. His eyes appeared like someone else was behind them. Startled, Herbert reached for his shoulder. Jules reacted in a similar fashion.

“What is it, my friend?” Herbert asked.

“Your mustache is thicker than I had imagined,” Arthur examined him.

“‘Thicker!’ What the devil do you mean? We’ve know each other for years.”

Jules suddenly mirrored Arthur’s gasp. He nodded at Arthur as if they had a prearranged assignment. “You need to write about the future,” he implored.

“It’s imperative you write about what we’ve seen,” Arthur urged.

Herbert examined them closely, “Perhaps, another drink?”

~

(Click here to read the story from the other side of time.)

Time Traveling Tattoo - a short story

Time Traveling Tattoo (Fiction 101 Series)

When she first applied the needle at the base of my neck, the tingling of her artwork filled my mind. An empty Victorian seat, a spinning disc, a set of glowing controls and a long brass lever appeared over the course of the next few hours. Every few minutes she blew on the ink. Finally, she flashed the image to me with a mirror. Her soft breath sent a shiver down my spine and back into my skull. Suddenly, I sat before two gentlemen discussing their work.

Startled, Jules swore in French.

Herbert exclaimed, “Arthur, you don’t seem to be yourself!”

~

(Click here to read the story from the other side of time.)

Flying Dead - a short story

Flying Dead - 1940

Another order. Another mission. Each time Captain Barton received his orders, all of him died. The Colonel told him years back – he should consider himself as dead while on a mission. In a mysterious and sick way, it motivated him. But that didn’t make it any easier to write a dead man’s letter to his mom and dad back home. Before he wrote the letter he thought about what he’d write as he packed. Although he saved all the other letters, he wrote a new one before each mission. It was his way of living. Even though he had several kills, he knew he was saving lives – the brave men on the ground at the front lines. Even though he died with each mission, a fresh new letter was the only thing that kept him alive.

He pulled out his worn leather suitcase from under his bunk with his equally worn hands. He carefully opened the case and gazed at the purple velvet lining. He took a deep breath and started to pack. He folded his civilian trousers and placed them in first. They were his legs that walked him to the recruiting office just as the war broke out. Next, his dress shirt. It had once covered his innocent heart which gave him the courage to leave home. A blue tie followed which reminded him of the civility and freedom for which he fought. Important to him, like the details in planning, he placed the smaller items in next. Brass cufflinks. Shaving kit. Toothbrush. Comb. A library edition of Ernest Hemingway's short stories. And a framed photo of his mom and dad. All the items he couldn’t take with him. And then he sat with pen and paper:

    Dear Mom and Dad,

    I can’t tell you how many times I’ve written this letter. Since it is in your hands now, I have gone to a better place. I pray that my death meant something. By the strength that you taught me I persevered. When I joined, I was only a young man – truly just a boy. The Royal Air Force taught me to be a man. Please know that I thought of you each time I went up in the air – the seemingly infinite air. And in the presence of the Infinite God, I will pray for you. I didn’t have much time to write this letter as my orders required immediate attention. Continue to give each other the attention and love I experienced and admired in both of you.

    Your endearing son,

    Ian

He sealed the letter and carefully placed it on top of his dress shirt. He turned and walked toward the window to gaze at his plane – a Hawker Hurricane with Flying Dead emblazed on the cowl. Along with his wingman, she was his best friend and ally. He closed his suitcase as if he were closing the lid on his casket. He closed his eyes and imagined the letter inside the darkness of his suitcase. He walked out to his plane in a disciplined manner. And then, with an eruption of smoke, he brought the engine to life.

Game Over - a short story

 Game Over (Fiction 101 Series)

With pockets full of quarters, the boys filled their imaginations with decorated pixels. It was 1983. The girls were there to watch the boys, mostly. Ali was there to watch them all. To observe. She always had a few boys watch her play. One boy brought her a Hershey bar. She took her eyes off the screen for a second and her last space ship blew up. It was the first time she needed a second quarter. She walked outside. The boy followed. Something caught her attention. She looked up and through a rogue cloud she saw the words, Game Over.

 ~

[Click here to read Part 1]

Ali - a short story

 Ali (Fiction 101 Series)

She sat in the dark.

In the arcade after hours, she powered down to recharge. During this time, she traveled around the world and saw all the advancements of mankind. And wars. And unification. And famine. And the first landing on Mars and then Titan. She traveled to her home planet and beyond – eventually to another galaxy. She witnessed the rise and fall of many kingdoms. Then her recharge cycle ended.

Saturday morning came and the arcade opened. Boys and girls flooded inside. It was time to insert coin and play again. The Coors calendar on the wall read, August 1982. 

~

[Click here to read Part 1]

[Click here to read Part 3]