• Reports from Real Life
  • Home
  • Stories

    • Warning: preg_match() expects parameter 2 to be string, object given in /home1/monkeywright/public_html/~sites/thunderdome/modules/mod_janews_featured/helpers/jaimage.php on line 383
  • Themed Collections
  • Visual Arts
  • Questions?


Last updateTue, 06 Aug 2013 2am

Back You are here: Home Stories Words for the People Short Stories
Short Stories
Monday, 20 August 2012 05:31

Freaks I Have Known

Written by

Grandma and Grandpa owned a black Mercury with red-and-white upholstery. When it was just the two of them, they didn't care how much squirreling around I did in the back seat. I didn't get on their nerves the way I did with some people. I could open the window all the way and stick out my head, foot or arm; lie on my back and touch the ceiling with my toes; scrunch up on the little shelf behind the back seat for an eye-to-eye view with the people in the car behind. No matter what I did, Grandma never turned around to tell me to sit up straight with my feet on the floor and stop acting like a big baby.

Monday, 20 August 2012 05:14

Sex, Drugs, and Rock-and-Roll, Inc.

Written by

You should have known better than to bring your girl around Bob. Of course he’d take her home with him.

She’s not really my girl. I don’t hardly know her. 

But then if you were to say she was your girl, even to yourself, then you’d have to admit that she left you to go home with Bob. Bob is a player. He goes from pussy to pussy. Another notch in his belt.

Monday, 20 August 2012 05:08

Every Mother's Son

Written by

Hospitals make me sick.  Every day, I walk through the emergency and waiting rooms, through bile, past head wounds and soft whimpers.

Following sneaker tracks through fresh blood, onto the elevator, up five floors to the oncology department.  Here, the patients wait as their bodies betray them.  Here, the red blood is swallowed up, digested, and expelled black.  Nothing smells quite like the cancer ward. 

Monday, 20 August 2012 04:14

Mississippi Queen

Written by

A willow's leaves fell softly on the form digging below it. It scattered the moonlight on his back as he strained in the hot, humid air. The sound of little feet along the dirt road nearby triggered alarm. He stowed his shovel and hid behind the tree. He stilled his breathing. His lungs burned, but he wouldn’t dare move, not even a breath.

Tuesday, 29 May 2012 01:45


Written by

About twelve years ago, a friend of mine gets it into his head that a Ferris wheel will catapult him to the moon. Remove a couple bolts, and whoosh! -- the centripetal force will toss you heavenward hard and fast enough to at least get you there. Which I suppose works if you spin the thing roughly a zillion times faster than it's built to go. The trip back, maybe not so easy, but... Kids sure do some crazy shit, don't they?
Hell, forget gravity. Forget oxygen.

Tuesday, 29 May 2012 01:36

Free Toy Inside

Written by

“Let’s get you pregnant,” Dustin said as he led Sammy by her hand to behind the stadium. “Then they can’t keep us apart.”

“Our families hate each other, though,” she said, cheeks drawn and pale above the elastic fringe of her Junior Varsity cheerleader collar.

“If we have a baby, we’ll be our own family.” He set her on the exercise pads thrown out by the dumpster. Sharp smells of locker room garbage draped them like the shadow of the athletic building. Everything seemed damp, even in the midsummer dusk.

Tuesday, 29 May 2012 01:24

Blood Falls

Written by

The whiteness of my skin scares me, pallor like that of an albino. Looking down, his black pupils absorbing all light. All life. Seeing through me as I lay on my back, the sad obsidian mist splashing my face keeping me half conscious. I blink hard and cough, clear my throat. The tics stop.

Tuesday, 29 May 2012 01:15

Tomorrow, Now

Written by

Five days before it happens my nephew says this: “My Dad says I should tell you to go to church; if you don’t you’ll go to hell.” And that pretty much summed up Rick; that my brother would come at me from all angles because he knew it was the only chance he had at saving me. They’re dead now, both he and my nephew, and it kills me knowing I could not save them the only way I knew how.

Tuesday, 29 May 2012 00:56

With All the Romance

Written by

Saturday afternoon, things were about to pick up, she could feel it. He was sitting at the counter, next to the first seat, leaving room for someone to sit next to him. Dark hair, turtle neck sweater, new jeans, black boots, it was like he’d been picked out of a line up, sent in, the perfect bait, precisely her type but there was something off. She would to talk to him, of course. She knew him from somewhere, couldn’t place him. The other gals had chided her about it but she never did understand them, the way they were about things like that, the guy was a customer in the restaurant where she worked, what was the big deal? Shy was never a problem of hers.

Sunday, 06 May 2012 00:00

The First Life & Death of Catboy

Written by

When he was born, Catboy was an almost perfectly normal human being baby. His folks didn’t have much truck with almost perfectly normal human being babies though. What made Catboy a little less perfect than his parents had hoped for was a spine as stretchable as a contortionist, a body completely covered in thick, black fur and him meowing when he ought to be crying. After a few days, Dad couldn’t take it any longer and decided to put his boy in a bag and lob him into a lake – just like a real cat. Thoughts like these happen only on dark, dark nights, of course, and it was a particular dark, dark night when the man set out with his son struggling in the sack. The thing with dark, dark nights is that many people are about and none of them with intentions they’d dare mention in front of their mums: the young father had barely swung the sack over his shoulder when fortune fell upon him.

Page 2 of 3