Tag: fiction

Fiction: Birth Order

Posted on by bryon

“Kristen’s escaped.”

Sub-Proctor Anne’s mouth was tight, as though she were braced for me to gloat.

“Oh,” was my entire contribution to the conversation; it was the most Christian thing I could think of to say.

“I thought you would want to know,” Sub-Proctor Anne said, still guarded. I nodded politely at her, and she moved on to resume her work.

I wasn’t surprised. How many times had I warned everyone that Kristen would remain here only as long as she wanted to? The church’s Joliet Maximum Assistance Rescue Ark hadn’t held her during a previous pregnancy. She slipped past the dogs and the guard towers and the electrified fence as though they didn’t exist. So what chance, I asked, did the minimum assistance-level St. Reagan’s Birth Assurance Home have? An electronic gate and a simple nine-foot chain-link fence with a thin strand of razor wire on top meant nothing to someone like Kristen.

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Fiction: Reindeer Games

Posted on by bryon

She was the sexiest reindeer at the Memorial Day festival.

Cori wore a brown crop top, brown short shorts, and high-topped suede boots. This would have been sufficient to draw plenty of attention. But she also wore a green sash with sleigh-type bells sewn onto it every few inches that jingled when she walked. The end of her nose was painted black, and she wore a headband with felt antlers attached.

Many people stared at and after her, but not many spoke to her. When they did, it was to ask the obvious question: “Why are you dressed like a reindeer on Memorial Day?”

She would smile and say, “I’m looking for someone.”

Cori wasn’t sure the person she wanted to find would be at the festival, but it was her best chance. So she walked through the crowds of families and friends scouting for a face she hadn’t seen since February.

Then she got the break she needed.

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Fiction: Information Technology

Posted on by bryon

“I’d like to preview the product,” Ashlan said, “before buying it.”

“Naturally,” Connor said. He placed a flash drive in a port on his laptop and called up the media viewer.

Ashlan leaned forward as images of documents appeared on the screen. The scene was misty at the edges, but the words on the pages were clear enough. Ashlan took special note of the dates on the pages, which were two years in the future.

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Fiction: Floral Arrangement

Posted on by bryon

It was windy that day in St. James’ Cemetery, and the flowers that were laid with love at the eastern end of the cemetery had been repositioned to decorate other graves. I left my hat in the car so I wouldn’t have to chase after it.

Her stone was taller than it was long, and I used my pocket knife to dig in the painfully well-manicured grass on the windward side. I set the yellow rose, still in its water tube, in the little hole and scraped earth around it with the flat of my blade.

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “It’s just one flower.”

Janet didn’t respond. The dead are like that.

But then, Janet hadn’t spoken to me for almost fifty years.

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Fiction: Marshmallow Workout

Posted on by bryon

Theo watched quietly as Rhonda sat at the table, holding as still as she could. She closed her eyes and held her hands in front of her, just above the table, as though she were holding a large ball.

A foot in front of her hands sat two ceramic mugs of hot chocolate. The one on the right had a large marshmallow bobbing gently in it.

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Fiction: Far from the Center Ring

Posted on by bryon

The door of William’s inner office opened and a sad clown walked in. He quietly closed the door behind him and shuffled to a corner where William could see him but where he was out of the way.

William regarded the clown sourly but said nothing and bent his head to his work. He made occasional furtive glances at the corner and saw the clown standing there, regarding William morosely. Each successive irritable peek at the clown led William to work harder to plow through the stack of papers on his desk.

Clients came in to keep their appointments, and William would talk them through their financial concerns and what the next step in the process would be. If any of the visitors noticed the clown, they were polite enough to make no mention.

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Fiction: Politeness

Posted on by bryon

On such a warm, beautiful spring day, Cal didn’t care to be cooped up in his office one minute more than necessary. A vendor provided a couple of hot dogs and a cold drink, and Cal found an empty park bench and made himself at home. He used his left hand for his meal and held his smartphone in his right hand, checking his messages.

As Cal was halfway through his second hot dog, he suddenly found a gun in his face. The young man wielding the gun snatched Cal’s phone and ran off with it, shouting, “Thanks, man!”

With his newly free hand, Cal reached into his jacket. He yanked out his revolver and fired two shots. The thief spilled to the ground, still clutching the phone.

“You’re welcome,” Cal yelled.

Dad was right, he thought. “An armed society is a polite society.”

Fiction: Pants on Fire

Posted on by bryon

A quick, gentle tattoo sounded on Don’s hotel door. He left off icing the champagne and all but danced across the room. He pulled on the handle.

“You’re early, my dear Mel— Erin!” A flash of surprise crossed his face, but he kept his smile in place. “Erin! Why, I’m so glad to see you, honey!”

“The hell you are,” she spat. “You’re expecting Melanie, here, even though you told me you were flying to Calgary for a meeting this weekend.”

“Well, it was canceled, but my colleague at work, Melanie, and I decided that we could go ahead and prepare…”

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of your lies. You’ve lied to me from day one. We’re finished.” She started to walk away.

“But, Erin, I love you!”

Erin stopped to glare at him. “How appropriate: your first and last lies are the same.” She turned and walked quickly to the stairway, which offered a more immediate exit than waiting for the elevator.

Don closed the door and went back to icing the champagne. “It’s all right,” he told himself. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t miss her.” He picked up two champagne glasses and swirled some crushed ice in them. He watched it spin. “It’s all right. Really it is.”

Moments later, another knock came at the door. Don opened it cautiously.

There was Melanie, all smiles, and Don smiled too.

“Hello, my dear Melanie!”

“Hello.” She hugged him. “Anything wrong?”

“Nothing at all. What could possibly be wrong? We’re here together and … I love you.”

 

Fiction: Call and Response

Posted on by bryon

In most of the pews, one hand held half the hymnal, and the other fanned its owner.

This Sunday had been overcast, and the wind, which had whipped ladies’ hats from their heads before morning services, had died away to nothing by the time worshippers arrived for evening services. Now a sticky stillness permeated Cherrydale.

“Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus!” they sang in the sanctuary of the First Lutheran Church, a moderate brick building erected twenty years earlier when the town and the congregation were growing before the Great Depression began. “Thou hast loved us, love us still.”

Eyes kept going from the hymnals to the windows. Evening was coming, to be sure, but too quickly. The unnatural darkness had everyone on edge, even in the house of the Lord.

And so they sang with more feeling than usual: “Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus! Thou hast loved us, love us still.”

The Rev. Morton stepped into his pulpit. “Be seated.” As his flock sat, he stole another glance out the windows himself.

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