Short-Story.Me!

  • Increase font size
  • Default font size
  • Decrease font size
Best Stories on the Web

Camouflaged

E-mail Print

Thwack! The snowball bounces off my shoulder and lurches me forward. My hands clutch the grocery bag as the knit cap I’m wearing catapults into a snow bank. I push my glasses up with a mitten-covered thumb. Left hand on not-so-narrow hip, I survey the neighborhood but see no one. Sun breaks through hazy clouds, and I squint against the reflective glare as my teeth pound out Beethoven's Fifth. Cap retrieved, I walk on booted heels as fast as the slippery sidewalk allows.

Read more...
 

Penalty Time

E-mail Print

Shea O’Brien was tired of listening to Kirill Sholokoff ramble about his prowess, all the girls he’s had and all the ones that still want to get with him.  Kirill smiled that gappy grin floating on gray stubble beneath his tall, charcoal hair, acting as if he had magical powers.  The guy was a major-league crime boss.  Yeah, he got pussy.  What’s the shock?

Kirill drifted into Russian with Anatoly – stocky, balding, brown goatee – and Vlad – slim and blonde – on either side of him in the booth.  Shea sat in a wooden chair on the opposite side of the table pretending he didn’t understand, but the Bureau had trained him for deep cover, making certain he was fluent in Russian.  The trick was not to let on to Kirill and his goons that he knew their language, so Shea had made an art of achieving a disinterested affect, even though his ears were constantly pricked.

Read more...
 

Fishing with Dynamite

E-mail Print

The explosion was more of a thud than a bang.  The water spouted medium high with abrupt splashing.

“Hell!  What the hell?”  The small guy had been taking a nap in the morning sun.  He had driven all night while the big guy slept.  Even though it was just a thud, the explosion woke him from a deep slept.  He thought for a moment he was back in Iraq.  He reached for his gun.  He didn’t have one now.  “What the hell?”  There weren’t such big lakes in Iraq.  It wasn’t Iraq he remembered.  He was in Missouri or was it Kansas?  Didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t Iraq!

Read more...
 

The House of Succor

E-mail Print

Bathing in the light of magnesium, the shrine resembled a giant lamp drawing moths from the darkness, glowing brighter for the poorest of moths like Daniel standing by the gate.  He looked at the buildings behind him as if he could see his father in their hovel, sleeping away his latest binge drinking.  Then he remembered that he was in a city away from his father and his belt and broom.  He looked behind him one last time before walking inside on his good leg.

Read more...
 

The Ultimate Lift

E-mail Print

Ivan Benedict was known as the billionaire who never smiled, and he had good reason for his melancholy demeanor.  Twenty five years ago as his wife was driving their young son back from summer camp, she lost control of the car.  Crashing through a bridge guardrail, mother and son plunged sixty feet into the lake below.  Police investigations indicated that both survived the impact, but drowned while attempting to open the doors of the car.  For a time it seemed to the world that Ivan could not get past the tragedy and would never be productive again. 

Read more...
 

The Great Pretender

E-mail Print

“You really should have had that second fitting done, honey.  Closer to the day.”

“It doesn’t matter now, Mum,” said Corinne, shifting uneasily in her seat.  Carefully sipping her water as if each mouthful might burst her seams, she lamented the fact her beautiful dress was already much fuller than its maker had intended.

“Are you feeling any better?  Can you make it to the end?”

“I’ll last as long as I can but it doesn’t matter anyway.”

Susan was horrified and grabbed her daughter’s hand.  “How can you say that?”

“Look at him,” said Corinne waving her hand dismissively in the direction of her new husband, Andrew.  “He doesn’t care.  He’s oblivious.”

“He’s a little drunk, and enjoying this special day.”

“Rubbish,” scoffed Corinne.  “He’s almost legless and he’s drinking to take away the pain of the realization he’s married now.”

Read more...
 

Blind Living

E-mail Print

Ding!

Adam despised the sound of a new incoming message in Laura’s smart phone.

Ding!

Adam didn’t need his eyes to know what Laura was doing right then. Her clothes rustled. The dimmed click-click-click. Yeah, Laura was reading her emails. Her short-lived snort meant bad news.

“I must go back to the office,” Laura said.

“I thought so.”

Laura’s warm lips lingered on his forehead. Adam felt a slight draft of air as she got up. Her sneakers squeaked away in the direction of the bedroom. Alone on the couch, he searched with his palms for the remote control.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” was the last dialogue he heard as he clicked the off button.

Read more...
 

Survivor

E-mail Print

It was an unusually hot day in late October 1901 when Panamint Pete arrived in Ballarat.  It was so hot that the vultures refused to fly, preferring to waddle about until they found a carcass, at which they listlessly picked.  The tumbleweed barely budged for lack of any kind of wind.

Pete came from the mountain range that gave him his name, which lay just east of Ballarat.  He was one of those men who seemed to have been born old, for one could not picture him as ever having been young.  His face had more furrows than a newly plowed field, he was missing half his teeth and what remained of his hair was grayer than Jeb Stuart’s backside.  He came with a mule laden with two sacks full of gold nuggets the size of a big man’s fist. 

Read more...
 

The Men With Green Faces

E-mail Print

It's been six months since my grandpa Walter J. Montgomery passed away. He died in his sleep at the age of ninety-two, in the spare bedroom of my home where he had been living for the past five years. I am just now in his old house, packing things up, making this process of his finale complete. Well, I'm not really in his house actually. I'm sitting on the rocking chair right outside, on the front porch, taking a much-needed break.

I've got two items in my hands on this break of mine. A soon-to-be-opened bottle of Steelhead Ale that I've brought with me all the way from my home in Humboldt County; and one simple photograph that I've just found in a drawer. The ale has a distinct flavor to it, and for anyone who knows beer the way I do, they'll tell you that within this flavor is a subtle richness all its own. It's quite likely, in fact, that if you were to discretely pour a glass of this ale for a fellow beverage connoisseur, one sip is all it would take for them to realize what they were drinking. But I've been staring at this photograph for an hour already, and as a marine sniper with twenty years of experience, there isn't a person alive who could convince me that I've got shitty eyesight. Yet nonetheless...

Read more...
 

The Grinder

E-mail Print

Joey saw the grinder and knew there would be trouble. The tilt of the thing in the weeds of the abandoned Cheshire Flea Market, the rust on it, hinted at the monstrous.

His friends—Art, Charlie, Rupe—dropped the empty pop bottles and rebar they’d collected. They clustered around the grinder’s gaping mouth. They buzzed, fidgeted, leaked steam through fixed smiles as they peered from under their snow caps into the black throat of the machine.

All but for Del, who hung back, small in his parka and frowning.

Joey shot a reproachful look at Del. His brother had to brave up before the others noticed.

Read more...
 

Page 22 of 41

Get New Stories Sent To You By Email


Stories
News
Subscribe
Unsubscribe





Featured Stories

Written by: Lela Maria De La Garza
“Gee that’s too bad…well, it’s not necessarily fatal…at his age though…but Mrs. Harcourt has a son living in... Read more..

Written by: Grace Giesbrecht
Lucas DeRoso was a criminal genius, but he didn't look it. With a fine, expensive suit and silvery, silcked-back hair, he... Read more..

Written by: Suri Ben Noah
On the outskirts of Madras, the city where I live in Southern India, it is said that there once lived a famous knife thrower.... Read more..



Buy Featured Story Placement


TOP OF PAGE