Her smiling face lay in the snow next to his. It was just a photo now. They were all just photos now. He hadn’t seen a familiar face outside of a photo for two years. He had been running for so long he forgot why. And now he found himself back here. Outside this place. This town. His home town, a nice quiet place. He tightened his long black overcoat’s warm embrace around himself and slowly made his way into the town. He could see people pointing, he could hear them whisper words like “ghost” and “almost looks like.” His breath made itself visible in the icy air. Snow came down from the skies to gently kiss the ground and everything on it.
He found himself outside her door, questions he held in his mind for a long time became louder now. Had she found someone else? Did she still live here? Did she even want to see him? Would his appearance only anger her? Should he even be here? Before he could summon the courage to knock her door opened. She stood before him as beautiful as he remembered her. Her soft eyes connected with his own. She leaned against the door and spoke with her soothing voice.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 148 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 148
by Joe Schwartz
I first decided to kill Edgar last summer.
He had come into all our lives three years ago. There wasn’t anything that odd or outstanding about him I could recall. He was a hard worker who didn’t need much instruction to get a job done. When the supervisor asked what we all thought of bringing him aboard full time, none of us had any reason to balk.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 26 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 19
The “Hang Buddy,” a.k.a. Mitch, runs a “platonic escort service for men in serious need of male bonding.” With a swipe of your Visa, the “Hang Buddy” is there for you – to grab a late-night burger with, to boost your fragile ego, or just to hang out and shoot the shit because no one’s awake. This is his tale.
My client for tonight is Gordie, a 35-year old Caucasian male who lives at home with his parents in the ‘burbs. He claims to be a “struggling artist,” but I smell chronic unemployment. In any case, I don’t ask questions, as long as his Visa swipes through okay. I show up at 10:38 p.m., and offer my standard greeting: “Hi, my name is Mitch. I’ll be your ‘Hang Buddy’ for this evening.”
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $10.00 Rank: 8 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 11
The clicking of his typing was drowning out all the white noise around him. His eyes had been fixed on the screen for some time and were slowly becoming sore, but he ignored it. He had just gotten an idea as to how to finish this line of code and he didn’t want to forget it. It was time for lunch, he realized, but he always finished eaten in far less time than he was given, besides, he wasn’t really hungry.
As he finished the code, he became aware of one of his coworkers standing behind him. The co-worker had been saying something, but he hadn’t been listening. After a moment of confusion, he gathered that his co-worker had invited him to eat with him and some of the other employees. He tried to refuse, but his co-worker insisted rather fervently, and he eventually relented and saved the program to a disk, which he ejected and pocketed.
Category: Short story / Cumulative Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 94 / Month's Earnings: $0.00 Rank: 94
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