Abraham doubled over to contain the bile that swelled in his throat coughing himself awake. He threw his head against the foot square whole carved in the wall, his hand fumbling with the latch to press open the shutters. Looking down the street he could see the sun crest over the whitewashed buildings that dotted the Brooklyn shoreline. The sight of water and city was both familiar and unsettled him in the same breath. The buildings did not bear the rough stone or painted brick he was used to. The shore did not have the same rolling platinum clouds over head. They had been replaced by an alien sky of pale blue with buildings of red brick and wood. His cool summer breeze had been blown away by a lingering humidity that seeped in through the walls and floors leaving a damp film on his skin.
Tag: Short Stories
Short Stories: Frieze
The port of New York City on the Island of Manhattan was a muddy grim place in 1851. Not yet refined by generations of industry and luxury. Built over the foundations of its colonial origins they city had just emerged from the bedrock. As is the case with all cities its shape was constituted and reconstituted in layers, one on top of the other. Intricate buildings densely packed together rolled north down unpaved streets. The largest buildings only seven stories tall New York had forged itself as the economic hub of the United States with burgeoning influence around the world. Its skyline no less impressive then it greeted passengers with a sense of wonder, especially those lost souls who had left behind a life of macabre certainty. In countless masses immigrants would shuffle down the gangplank to disembark before fanning out across the city, then the country.
Short Stories: Evanescent
Peter was a salesman, though others gave him many other titles to himself he made no qualms about his truest function. He held no allegiance to his product and was rewarded for his successes rather than his ideals. In this way he was honest with himself, able to function amid a myriad of self-delusion and deception.
Short Stories: Hoick
The sad truth of human history was that democracies did not end in an instant, as is always the case with any brave endeavor they die a thousand deaths before the final fall. Like beaches it erodes until there is nothing left. Yet until the day people discover themselves standing upon a rocky shore they will tell you it has only narrowed with the tide. That the death of our own republic would have been any different was a wonderfully naive delusion Michael Collins told himself from inside the transport van.
Short Stories: Colubrine
Giacomo strode across the empty Piazza di Sant’Anastasia the collar of his navy trench coat turned up at the rain. It fell in marble like drops which exploded upon impact sending microscopic bursts of water skittering across the cobblestone square and into the street. Giacomo glanced at the Basilica di Sant’Anastasia al Palatino. Its face lit by golden streetlights he crossed himself out of habit then shoved his hands into his pockets coat pushing it closed against the wind.
Short Stories: Jacquerie
Nothing in life is done without a reason. Sometimes those reasons are noble, other times selfish or misguided yet every action is under taken with a goal in mind. Understanding that goal and the ultimate motivations behind are what had made Thomas a success in marketing. Now staring at the old typewriter with its grey unflinching face he wondered what his own motivations were.
Short Stories: Ab Initio
The violin had not been Maureen’s passion as a child, nor even a real interest. It had been one of those things parents forcibly compelled their children to engage in. Touted as a crux personal of development it was privately praised for the few moments a week it granted them time alone.  The implications of her mandated attendance and her younger sister birth, just 10 months to the day after her first lesson, did not occur to Maureen for more years than she was proud of.
Short Stories: Lavation
Every person, and most animals, ever to walk the face of the Earth has their own personal retreat. A place where they are able to escape and in the process receive some nullifying effect from the hardship of life. For the lucky ones this was family, for others work, still more found it in the arts or society. Tragically others found it in darker vices, such as excessive drink or drugs. For the 8th Earl of Albemarle, Arnold Keppel, this had been the Officer’s Club.
Short Stories: Waggish
Mark whipped the wheel around, the car spinning around the corner. Desperately trying to account for the traffic he urged the car forward, darting between two pedestrians as they sprinted across the street. He hated being late, more than just a pet peeve it was a source of chronic anxiety. He turned the car into the parking garage at work swearing as it stretched to a halt in his space. Reaching over he pulled his briefcase from the passenger seat glitter spilling out of it.
Short Stories: Nemesis
Brian was exhausted, not in the way one is often tired but in truest form of the word. When worn to the core and depleted of the very essence of life we find ourselves barely unable to move. This was the irreconcilable state Brian had found himself in as he slumped forward, his broad frame sprawled against the polished wood of the table. He desired nothing more in that moment than to close his eyes and let sleep take him. Behind him the newly lit roar of the fireplace warmed his aching shoulder, the intense hurt melting away. Â The stabbing pain had been an unwelcome visitor which had taken up residence along his back with increasing frequency as winter settled in. The year prior it had only been a twinge but it seemed he had entered the phase of life where with each passing season he was met with more decay than delight. Â In the warm firelight he let himself
The Flask/Pen 