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Short stories for The Bradbury Challenge |
Short stories written for The Bradbury go here. Stories can be of any genre and any rating. For more information, check out:
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The old man tapped his cane along the cobblestones along Victoria Street, rushing to the best of his ability to the little shop along the Grassmarket where his life began. Peeking into the large display window, he smiled as the memories of his little girl washed over him like the glow of the street lamp. She'd been right there, beside the candy floss display near the register. Soon, she'd headed out the door and stood on the sidewalk, holding a package of candy floss in bright neon hues. "I've been looking for you. Want to see my new kitten? I was hoping you'd name him for me." The man had never seen the girl before, but children are easily fooled into believing they know you if you say the right things. The girl studied him with large, trusting eyes before nodding and stepping closer. "It's a secret, okay?" He explained as they hurried off down the busy street. "Like a game." He'd explained the game, and she responded through a mouthful of fluffy candy. If only he could have done a few things differently, maybe chosen a younger child, or a boy perhaps? He stared through the window, all these years later, and remembered life with his daughter. A child had been all his wife had wanted, but she’d left soon after he’d given her one. Six years later, his beloved daughter had run away, leaving him all alone. He stood there to remember. To feel all the lost feelings, sometimes he thought about starting over, choosing another. He exhaled and felt his age. His feet ached on the uneven cobblestones. No. He headed home alone, wondering if he remembered to buy some more rat poison. He supposed, in a pinch, a spare grocery sack would do the trick.  |
| “You know, Kurt, I really wish I’d never met you.” I stood within punching distance of my almost ex-boyfriend. "Honey, you don't mean that." I fought to keep my sanity, to stop the demons from taking over and forcing me to murder this man. "Kurt, you cheated on me. Don't you remember?" He remained silent, a product of watching too many lawyer shows, I guessed, and turned away with slumped shoulders and clumsy feet down the hall toward our bedroom. Or at least it used to be our bedroom. I doubted I'd be sharing that bed with him ever again. He'd be lucky if I stayed through the night in his cheap apartment. "It wasn't like that. You're overreacting. You have no idea how hard it is to be famous." With that, he slammed the bedroom door, leaving me unsure whether to laugh or scream. Famous? He thought he was famous? Puh-lease. I grabbed my sweater and headed out. I could get my meager possessions later, when Kurt wasn’t being such a moron. I’d barely made it five blocks when my phone buzzed, and I answered without looking at the screen. “Debra, sweetie, I heard what happened. You should be more understanding of my Kurt. You know he has schizophrenia, don’t you?” I couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. The whole situation was insane…much like my boyfriend. “Yes, Ronnie, I know your son’s a schizo. Do you think I’m stupid enough to believe he’s a famous astronaut?” “Yes, but it means he didn’t really cheat on you. I mean, not technically,” Ronnie stumbled out a reply. “Last I checked, Ronnie, imaginary women don’t leave behind lipstick stains and dirty underpants, do they?” With that, I slipped my phone into my pocket and headed off to enjoy a lovely Kurt-free life. |
| When Melody found the cassette tape in the kitchen junk drawer, she took it because she knew where her dad's old boom box was, and she'd never listened to a tape before. Her friends would call it "old tech," and for some reason, it was all becoming cool again. At bedtime, she carted the old cassette player into her bedroom, closed the door, and puzzled over the mechanics of the two objects. She inserted the tape one way, and the little door on the stereo wouldn't close, but on the second try, the satisfying click of the door closing tight rewarded her with the promise of auditory delight. Careful to keep the volume low, Melody snuggled into the covers, curious about the strange music that flowed like a lazy stream through the still night. The dreams came fast and hard, like a roller coaster on the downhill slope. She found herself in her sister's nursery at the other end of the house. However, her baby sister Neisha was walking along the edge of the crib railing, not in the clumsy, toddling way the baby was known for-- She leapt and danced, spinning, kicking, practically floating with every jump. "Neish, no!" Melody rushed to her sister in a panic, imagining how much trouble she'd be in if the baby were to get hurt. That's when the child took flight; she zipped up toward the ceiling, and a childish giggle escaped her lips. Neisha floated up toward the ceiling, her eyes not leaving her big sister's. “Melly go ‘way!” Melody rushed to her sister, hopeful that if she jumped, she could reach the child’s feet and pull her down. Curse their abominably high ceilings! She grasped one of Neisha’s stockinged feet and tugged her back down, into her arms. Neisha pulled her hand back, then slapped her hard in the face. “Get out! Melly, get out! My dream!” Suddenly, Melody’s eyes opened, and she was back in her own room. The music that once flowed richly from the old cassette player had stopped. She switched on her desk lamp and retrieved the tape from the apparatus. She read the words on the “A” side of the little cartridge. Classical Concertos with Subliminal Inspirations Subliminal what now? As in, hidden messages spoken to her subconscious as she slept? Creepy. No wonder she’d had such a weird dream. The next day, she clumped groggily to the kitchen table and poured a bowl of store-brand Cinnamon Toast Crunch into her favorite bowl. Neisha sat in her high chair, crunching a handful of Cheerios under her fist. Her baby sister seemed to be in a bit of a mood this morning. “What’s up with you, NayNay?” Melody used the family’s pet name for the child, in hopes it would make her smile. Neisha grasped a handful of Cheerios dust and tossed it in Melody’s face. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” She screamed until their mother came to calm the stormy waters within their modest home. Melody retreated to her room, tossed the cassette tape out the window, then returned the player to where she found it. Some things were just better left alone. |
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