A QUICK REMINDER: I will be holding a signing for my novel, Pandora’s Box, today at the main branch of the Noble County Public Library in Albion, Indiana. I’ll be there from 5:30pm to 7:30pm. You can buy copies of my novel at discounted prices.
BE THERE, OR BE SQUARE!
Since my friend Nick Hayden has shut down his old website, on which were posted three of my flash fictions, I have decided to post them here on my website. I will make sure to update the links on my “Short Stories” page.
Here are the stories:
Rain pattered against the massive windows, skewing the plane as it descended from the sea of gray looming in the sky. Ethan had been sitting in the airport terminal for what seemed like hours, his hands folded, his head hung. Dozens of empty seats surrounded him like an army. The P.A. hardly, if ever, resounded. He looked up to see his flight crawl down the runway.
He glanced at his watch. His head fell as he sighed, his hand running through his muddy hair. Blockaded tears stung his sealed eyes. A deep breath helped steel his resolve. He zipped up his black jacket, picked up the duffel bag sitting at his feet, stood, and walked toward the gateway. He didn’t look back.
“Ethan, wait!”
Two steps from the gateway, he stopped, turning around. Zoe sprinted toward him. Her amber hair was drenched, nearly brown. Her soaked white university shirt clung to her every curve. Short but shapely legs half-hidden by jean shorts carried her swiftly, her flip-flops slapping her tiny feet.
Ethan just stood there, glowering.
Zoe ran to him, slowing to catch her breath. Her sapphire eyes looked up at Ethan, who was almost a head taller than her, rain pouring down her face. “I made it in time.”
Ethan crossed his arms. “No, you’re late.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t get your e-mail until after my economics class. I had no idea you were going to leave.”
“Nobody did because nobody cared.”
Zoe’s lip quivered. “How could–”
“—I say that? Because I’ve been at that college for five months and no one accepts me. A few people act like they’re my friends, but it’s nothing but masks. I did all I could to fit in, make friends, but I’m just some weird artist to them, so they treat me like a leper.”
“I’m…sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for them!” snapped Ethan, pointing accusatively. “You listened to them. You and all the other freshmen let the upperclassmen decide who your friends should be, who was allowed to join the student aristocracy. You were one of them by the end of the first semester.”
Zoe dropped her gaze. “I had no idea they were hurting you so much.”
“You never asked.” Ethan shook his head. “When I met you the first day of classes, I thought you were different. You went to my art exhibits and my poetry recitations. You seemed to understand me. I guess I was wrong.”
“I came here, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know why. None of your ‘friends’ bothered to come. It just proves what I’ve known all along—nobody would miss me if I died tomorrow.”
Zoe sealed her eyes and clenched her fists. “Would it help if—“
“I don’t want to hear it!” shot Ethan, waving his hand dismissively. “It won’t change that I’m cursed to be an outcast everywhere I go. Even home isn’t home anymore. I sent that e-mail to everyone I knew, and even my parents haven’t tried to stop me. What does that tell you?”
Zoe wrung her hands, her eyes staring at the floor and her body tense. “I don’t know…”
“It tells me that I am, and always will be, alone.”
Zoe stood there in silence.
Ethan glanced at the window as the thunderous hum of the passenger jet whined in his ears. “My flight is here finally,” he said, looking back at Zoe. “I have to go.”
“Where?” she asked, her voice cracking.
After weeks of searching, I’d finally found a decent job—at a graveyard. But after only a few hours of work on my first day, Adam, my boss, insisted I come with him outside. My buddies told me this wasn’t good, but hey, what am I supposed to do? Tell him, “No,” and get fired?
Adam led me into the heart of the graveyard, an ocean of dead yellow grass peppered with black and gray headstones. When we reached the center of the property, Adam stopped, and handed me a rusty shovel. “Dig, boy.”
“For what?” I retorted. “Jack Sparrow’s pot o’ gold?”
“You heard me–dig. And don’t stop ‘til I tell you.”
With that, he walked away.
I sighed, and stabbed the ground with the shovel. The soil was strangely soft. I quickly piled it into a dry heap, nearly suffocating on the dust cloud that enveloped me with every scoop of dirt.
Hours passed. Adam never told me to stop. Heck, I never saw him again that day. The hole deepened, and I slowly descended into it. I didn’t notice how far down I was until I stopped briefly to wipe the sweat from my forehead. The ground was eye-level with me. I cursed my dumb luck, and threw another shovel-full of dirt over my head.
When the ground was a foot over my head, I heard several gruff voices talking about things I don’t care to repeat. After a few minutes, there was a loud thud, like something had been stabbed into the ground.
“What’s going on?” I called.
“Just keep digging, just keep digging,” said one of the voices, sarcastically. I heard his friends laugh and give him high-fives. Then they left.
I kept digging.
Darkness was descending. I’d lost track of time. Where’s Adam? How long do I have to keep digging? I could hardly see above me. Was this some kind of cruel joke? My veins burned, my muscles screamed in pain.
I kept digging.
“Hey!” a voice from above suddenly called.
Sighing, I said, “Is that you, Adam?”
“No,” he said, and quickly moved on. “Do you realize what you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You must stop now!”
After a very long absence, “I’m back in the saddle again,” as Aerosmith is famous for singing. I’ve posted a short and very silly short story for you to read, entitled “Bow to Your Sensei.” This piece has a bit of a storied history (no pun intended).
The initial idea came to me my senior year at Taylor University Fort Wayne when I took a literature class on C.S. Lewis and George McDonald. One of the books we read was Phantastes by McDonald, a fantasy that featured talking trees in several scenes. Ben Armstrong, one of my classmates told me before class that he thought the middle sections of the books were slow, and he jokingly said they would’ve been more exciting if ninjas were in it (because, as we all know, ninjas always make things more exciting). I don’t know why, but he also brought this up in class. In less than a week, it became our class’ running joke that all good stories require two things: ninjas and talking trees. Our professor, Dr. Pam Jordan-Long, even put it on the final exam!
Since then, I have been telling her I would one day write a story that had ninjas and talking trees because I had yet to find one that did.
This short story came about when a blogger on Xanga held an impromptu writing contest for her readers, telling them to write a story using as many of the sayings on the “Minis” as possible. So, I threw this story together at the last minute and submitted it. I didn’t win, but it was fun to write. That is, however, why the piece is pretty random.
(BIG OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT COMING…)
Regardless, it has served as the inspiration for the novel I am currently writing: Ninjas and Talking Trees. It is a fantasy/comedy about a young accountant who is transported to an eccentric fantasy world ruled by an equally eccentric tyrant. In order to get home, he must learn “the Ways of Hero-dom” and overthrow the villain. While it isn’t a parody, per se, it does poke fun at some fantasy story stereotypes (and a few from anime/manga), and it uses many of the genre’s archetypes for comedic effect.
I’ve been working on it much longer than I should have, but I hope to have a rough draft finished inside a month. Feel free to harp on me about it.
Until then, please enjoy “Bow to Your Sensei.” I promise the new book won’t be quite as random (but still just as silly).
It’s been too long since I last posted anything here. My apologies, readers. I shall remedy that this weekend.