He opened his chest to show her his heart. She did not react as he expected. Among the line of people to whom he had revealed this part of himself, none had reacted in a positive manner. He was used to polite grimaces, or blank stares, or even disgust and irritation. Most of his partners … Continue reading Puzzle Box
Tag: Short Fiction
The Greatest Good
See Beautiful. Is she still herself? Elisa wonders this, now, in the back seat of her car. After Mr. Myriad’s ministrations, she found herself too exhausted to drive the streets of a city she didn’t know. Her own town is so, so much smaller. The difference between the two is like that between an infant and … Continue reading The Greatest Good
Beautiful
Elisa is nervous, because she has come to be changed. She isn’t nervous because she doesn’t want the change, but rather, because she has wanted to change so very much for so very, very long. She is also nervous because the room is full of people much richer than herself. She can tell by their … Continue reading Beautiful
I’ll Try
Last night, I had a dream that I killed my own daughter. In the dream, I walked down a hall of doors. There were so many doors that there hardly seemed to be space for the walls between them. Some of them were open, leaking out their light and the sounds of activity therein. In … Continue reading I’ll Try
The Stone
Marc had a magic stone. He knew it was magical, when he first saw it, because of its impeccable beauty. By some force, natural or supernatural, it had been formed into a perfect sphere, with sides so smooth that, though it was but mundane rock, it reflected the light and the world as clearly as … Continue reading The Stone
Part of It
She wanted everything to be perfect. Not in life, or in everything, but just for this one party. If she could make that happen, maybe other things would start to follow. Maybe, if she made this party go well, she could start to make the rest of her life go well, too. So Gina put … Continue reading Part of It
Booker’s Garden
The collection of pots and planters that Booker keeps on his balcony is not, by some metrics, impressive. There are those who would hesitate even to call it a garden, since it is not planted in the ground, and perhaps even because it takes up such a small place. None of that matters to Booker. … Continue reading Booker’s Garden
Touch Him
We had sex. We didn’t plan to do it. If anything, we actively planned against it. Not out loud, mind — that’s not the sort of thing you discuss out loud, any more than you discuss planning to have sex. No, our planning was furtive and silent, made up of subtle glances and faint shakes … Continue reading Touch Him
Mr. Frumbleton
Mr. Frumbleton lived alone in a single-floor house at the end of the road. The house, like him, was a relic of decades past. Its design and the interior decor were outdated. It lacked central air, and was therefore insufferably warm in the blistering summer temperatures of the modern climate. The outer layer of his … Continue reading Mr. Frumbleton
Help
I have to help. It’s not just a drive within myself. It’s not something altruistic inside me that sees a person in danger and says, Hey, you really should intervene. I don’t like to listen to that voice. I don’t often hear that voice at all. What I get, instead, is a voice that said, … Continue reading Help
Daydreams 