Stories on the Go: 101 Very Short Stories by 101 Authors

by Hugh Howey

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  Young Adult — Humor

  One For The Boys

  Geraldine Evans

  ‘Cor! Did you see that? She only waved at me.’

  ‘Come off it, Jezza,’ Rory jeered. ‘She can’t even see you through them bushes. She sure ain’t gonna be doin’ no wavin’.’

  ‘Don’t diss me, man. She did, I tell you.’

  ‘Probably waving in her next John,’ said Connor. ‘She’s s’posed to be the local Tom, after all. Looks to me to be all ready for ’im, an’ all, seein’ as she’s got no clothes on.’

  Alex, the short-arse at the end, where he clung by his fingertips to the top of the fence in a vain attempt to raise his head above it, piped up. ‘Got no clothes on? Really? Fuck me.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Jezza. ‘I’d rather do her. How much do you reckon she charges?’

  ‘More than you can afford,’ Alex told him from the muddy puddle into which he had tumbled.

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I reckon.’

  ‘More than them new jeans cost your mum? Wait till she sees ’em. She’ll go bloody mad.’

  With a dignity marred only by the rude, squelching sound as he extricated himself from his mud bath, Alex raised his chin. ‘Bunch of pervs, you lot. Peepin’ Toms.’

  ‘Grow a few centimetres, midget-dick, and you can be a perv, too,’ Jezza taunted. ‘Bugger me. She’s only comin’ out!’

  Alex abandoned his lofty dignity and scrambled to get a toe-hold on the fence. This time, he succeeded. ‘Cor,’ he said. ‘Get a load of them knockers! Plastic?’

  ‘Nah,’ Rory, the only one amongst them who claimed to have scored, told them with a knowledgeable air, ‘too bouncy.’

  ‘Yeah. And they’re only bouncin’ over here! Get down, you lot,’ Jezza warned as he dropped into the puddle.

  Alex, the last to get a toe-hold, was also the last to react. Gobsmacked as this naked apparition came towards him, he could only stare, open-mouthed as the woman called, ‘Seen enough, little boy? Want to climb over that fence and become a man?’

  Behind the fence, the other three boys sniggered from their puddle oasis. And it was with one accord that they pulled themselves to their feet, seized Alex’s mud-blackened legs and heaved him over the fence. They sniggered some more as they heard his painful landing amongst the stiletto-sharp needles of the Firethorn.

  But they laughed on the other side of their faces forty minutes later, as a now cocky Alex swaggered out of the front door. Their short-arse friend seemed suddenly taller.

  ‘Come on, Runt Face. Give,’ Jezza demanded. ‘Did she make you a man? Or did your midget prick fail to raise a smile?’

  ‘Au contraire, mon ami,’ Alex told him loftily, as unexpectedly a bit of his mostly forgotten French classes came back to him. ‘Suzette got what she asked for. Twice. And it didn’t cost me a cent.’ With that, he sauntered off, hands thrust jauntily in the pockets of his muddy jeans.

  Ruefully, his three friends looked at one another. Each of them wishing they were shorter. And slower. And — Alex.

  Geraldine Evans

  is the author of eighteen mysteries over two series, Rafferty & Llewellyn and Casey & Catt, one standalone suspense/thriller, The Egg Factory, one biographical historical novel, Amazon Category Best Seller, Reluctant Queen, two romances The Wishing Fountain and Land of Dreams, as well as various works of shorter fiction and non-fiction, some under pseudonyms.

  An indie author since the latter part of 2010, she was traditionally published by Macmillan, St Martin’s Press, Worldwide, Severn House and Hale. Some of her novels are also available in hb, pb, audio and large print.

  Originally a Londoner, Geraldine lives in Norfolk, UK, where she moved in 2000.

  Geraldine Evans’s Website

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  Fantasy

  Non Si Muove

  MeiLin Miranda

  “Were you frightened when they sent you up in the rocket, Grandfather Yuri?”

  “Oh, no, not for a moment, my dear. As long as the Motherland knows where her son flies in the sky, a pilot is never alone.”

  “Is space very black, Grandfather Yuri?”

  “Very black indeed, and the earth very blue. Wonderful blue, amazing blue.”

  “Did you see the moon? And the stars?”

  “Oh yes, darling child.”

  “And the angels?”

  “All the angels among them, their shoulders against the celestial spheres. It was quite the surprise.”

  “Silly Grandfather! How else would the stars move?”

  “We believed differently then, my dear.”

  “How many angels push the moon?”

  “Just the one, though He has two faces.”

  “And did you see His faces?”

  “The light and the dark, yes, though only for a moment. He is terrible to behold, and one must not gaze at Him too long.”

  “Is that how you lost your sight, Grandfather Yuri?”

  “…Yes, child. That is how I lost my sight. And that is why we send no more men up in rockets. Now, lead me to the house. I believe it is time for supper.”

  MeiLin Miranda

  writes fantasy and science fiction primarily set in Victorian worlds. Her love of all things 19th century (except for the pesky parts like cholera, child labor, slavery and no rights for women) has consumed her since childhood, when she fell in a stack of Louisa May Alcott and never got up.

  MeiLin Miranda’s Website

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  Romance

  Something Worth Keeping

  Beverly Farr

  “How much for the lamps?”

  Julie put a box of paperback books down on a card table, and brushed her dusty hands on her jeans. “You’re early,” she said to the gray-haired woman standing in her driveway. “The garage sale doesn’t start for another hour.”

  “Early bird gets the worm,” the woman said cheerfully. “So, how much for the lamps?”

  “They’re twenty dollars apiece or two for thirty.”

  “That seems high.”

  Julie bit her lip. Greg had said the same thing when she bought them, but she didn’t want to think about him. Their separation was too new, too raw. “They cost three hundred,” she said flatly. “They’re thirty now. Take it or leave it.”

  “Well!” the woman huffed. “If you won’t negotiate…” Her voice trailed off.

  Negotiate, Julie thought as she watched the woman walk back to her car. That’s what her divorce lawyer wanted her to do – negotiate with Greg. As he said, “You rent your house, you don’t have any children. It’s just a matter of dividing up the assets.”

  The problem was, Greg didn’t want anything. Not the couch, not her. “Get rid of it all,” he said flatly.

  Julie squared her shoulders, blinked away the tears, and went back to work, carrying out boxes and arranging them along the driveway.

  Maybe it was best to get rid of it. She’d become a minimalist and move into a sleek modern apartment with no yard and start over. New surroundings for a new life.

  “You want some help with that?”

  It was Greg. Her heart contracted painfully. There he was, tall and slim, thinner than she liked, wearing a pair of worn jeans and a faded black t-shirt. He looked tired, and he needed a haircut, but it was no longer her job to care. “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought you might like some help with the heavy things.” At her look of surprise, he added, “It’s the least I can do.”

  She considered this for a second, then agreed. “Okay.” She didn’t really want him around, but she didn’t want to sound like a shrew kicking him out. Besides, fifty percent of the stuff was his – sixty percent if she counted the computer graveyard in the garage.

  They worked together quietly for half an hour. It was appalling to see all the junk
they had accumulated over the years – clothes they didn’t wear, books they didn’t read, gifts other people had given them that they never wanted in the first place.

  She didn’t want to think about how much it had all cost, and for what?

  None of it had made them happy.

  She didn’t blame Greg for leaving, she realized as he helped her carry out a coffee table. They’d both been going through the motions for ages.

  By eight o’clock, the garage sale officially started and some of the nicer items were bought quickly. Julie put the cash in a zippered fanny pack attached to her waist.

  “Do you have any baby things?”

  Julie looked over to see a young blonde woman, five or six months pregnant. “Yes,” she said at the same time Greg said, “No.”

  “Which is it?” the woman asked.

  Julie looked at Greg, eyes narrowed, trying to read his mind. Did he really want to keep the crib? She said, “It’s in the house.”

  The woman followed her inside. “Oh, how lovely,” she breathed, looking at the matching crib, rocking chair, and changing table. “How much do you want?”

  Greg stood in the nursery doorway. “It’s not for sale.”

  How dare he? He couldn’t say he didn’t want anything and then change his mind. “That’s right – it’s not for sale,” Julie said fiercely. “You can have it all – as a gift.”

  The woman gasped. “You can’t be serious. It’s worth a small fortune.”

  It was nothing compared to the cost of all the doctors they had seen, trying to get pregnant. Julie glared at Greg. “I’d like it to be used, rather than sit around gathering dust.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. Julie was shocked. He hadn’t touched her in months.

  He said, “Maybe you’re right, and it’s better not to be reminded.”

  The woman looked between her and Greg. “I’m so sorry. Did your baby die?”

  Julie nodded. “A miscarriage.”

  Greg cleared his throat. “You can have it all, if you want.”

  Julie looked at him suspiciously. Were those tears she heard in his voice?

  He said gruffly, “I’ll help load your car.”

  Within twenty minutes, it was all packed in the back of a pick-up truck. “Thank you so much,” the woman said several times. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay anything?”

  “No, take it,” Julie insisted. She watched as the truck drove away.

  Greg said quietly, “That was the right thing to do.”

  Her suspicions were confirmed. There were tears in his eyes. When their baby died, Greg had never cried; he’d held his emotions inside.

  She’d felt shut out. Alone.

  Now her heart softened. “It’s hard to let go of the dream of having the perfect family.”

  “It’s harder to let you go.”

  Julie hesitated, afraid to hope. “What exactly are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I still love you. I don’t want to get a divorce.”

  “Then why did you move out?”

  “Because I couldn’t make you happy. I felt like a failure.”

  And she’d thought she was the failure. “Oh Greg. I don’t want a divorce, either.” Suddenly, his arms were around her and they kissed. Julie clung to him, not wanting to let him go.

  “How much for the lamps?” a male voice asked.

  Julie stepped back, embarrassed to be caught kissing on the front lawn. She smoothed her hair.

  “They’re not for sale,” Greg said, glancing at her for her agreement.

  Julie smiled for the first time in a long time. “That’s right. The garage sale’s over.

  Beverly Farr

  I love romance and I love to laugh. I love Jane Austen, Cinderella stories, and 1930’s screwball comedies. Think An Affair to Remember or While You Were Sleeping. I am fascinated by the complicated emotional dance that brings a couple together. Since no two people are exactly alike, every romance is wonderfully different, yet beautifully similar.

  I want heroes and heroines who deserve a happy ending together. I don’t want heroines who are too stupid to live. The hero can be a bit of a jerk, like Darcy in the beginning, but not a total jerk like Wickham.

  What you will find in my stories:

  1. Sweet, quirky, pg-rated romance.

  2. Very little swearing. There may be an occasional hell or damn, and maybe even a b*tch, but there is no Lord’s name in vain and no f-bombs.

  3. No explicit sex scenes. Characters might discuss sex, but love scenes fall into the “closed door” or “fade to black” category. Think African Queen.

  4. No vampires or zombies. At least not yet.

  I’m currently working on a four books series — the Love and Chocolate Series. Each story is a sweet, stand-alone romance without cliffhangers.

  Thanks for reading Something Worth Keeping.

  I hope you liked it.

  Many of my short stories and novellas are free. You’ll find them on my blog.

  Beverly Farr’s Blog

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  Fantasy — Fairy Tale

  Deadly Beauty

  Sarah L. Carter

  Prince Anders scowled at his feet as his father paced and ranted.

  “A year ago you left this palace,” the king spluttered. “You promised you were going to wed Princess Elora of Sonnen. You sent letters claiming you were married and that you were arranging for Sonnen’s army and ore to be put at my disposal. But instead you were off gallivanting in the wilderness, while Sonnen’s people were put under a curse.”

  Anders snorted. “You can hardly blame me for the curse, Father. If I had gone to Sonnen then I would probably be under the very same curse. If the stories are even true.” An entire kingdom being put into an eternal sleep by a dark fairy? It sounded like nonsense to Anders.

  “Yes, but you might have had a chance to secure me the resources I need before the curse struck,” the king snapped.

  Anders stiffened with indignation. “I will travel to Sonnen and learn the truth. Perhaps I’ll find this so-called dark fairy. Then I will either kill her or make a bargain with her.”

  The king grimaced. “She is here. In this city. Apparently she’s been bothering the local herbalists and apothecaries for a cure for blood bane bark, of all things. She confessed to placing a sleeping curse upon Sonnen. The city guards are searching for her.”

  Anders rolled his eyes. This fairy was probably just a mad woman spouting nonsense. But something strange must have happened to the people of Sonnen. The kingdom lay up in the mountains, a hundred miles to the north. Its subjects had rarely ventured this far south, but there had apparently been no contact at all with the remote kingdom since the betrothal between Anders and Princess Elora had been arranged.

  “I will leave within the hour,” Anders announced.

  “You’ll probably make matters worse,” the king grunted. “Everything you touch turns to ashes.”

  Anders found the journey to Sonnen harder than he’d anticipated. Winding mountain passes were treacherous enough, but the true difficulties began when he crossed Sonnen’s border. The kingdom had been swallowed by a thick, dark forest. Anders didn’t recognise the trees. They were gnarled and twisted, and they bore almost as many thorns as they did leaves. Many were decaying or diseased. There were brambles everywhere. Their stems and thorns were so unnaturally thick that Anders had to hack his way through them with a sword. His exposed skin soon became slashed and scored.

  I should turn back, Anders thought despondently.

  But then—through the thorny tangle of vegetation—he caught sight of a small cottage.

  “Hello?” he called.

  Silence.

  He found a couple with their three children inside the cottage. They sat at a table with their eyes closed. Anders shouted at them and shook them, but they didn’t wake, even though they still breathed.

  The rumours were true. These p
eople were under some dark, powerful curse. Anders hefted his sword, wishing he could kill the dark fairy responsible.

  With a heavy heart, he returned to cutting a path through the forest.

  A strange flapping sound reached him moments later, making him freeze in mid-swing. The sound grew louder and Anders turned to face it. A flying figure flitted into view, dodging through the branches. The dark fairy.

  “Halt!” Anders cried, dashing into the creature’s path and raising his sword.

  The diminutive, winged woman dropped to the ground. She held a bottle in her hands.

  “Release this kingdom from your vile curse!” Anders demanded.

  “You don’t understand,” the fairy said desperately. “I think I have a cure for blood bane!” She raised the bottle. “I can save—”

  Anders recoiled. Who knew what foul potion the bottle contained? Then he lunged, sword swinging. The fairy’s body crumpled, her head rolling free. Her hands still clutched the bottle.

  That was too easy, Anders thought. She hadn’t tried to kill him. She hadn’t even tried to defend herself.

  Feeling deeply troubled, he continued on.

  The main hall in the royal castle of Sonnen had been laid out for a grand feast. Nobles slumbered upright around tables laden with food. Servants lay on the floor.

  Anders ignored them all. He had eyes only for the young woman who slept in the third and smallest throne on the dais at the back of the hall. She looked like goodness made flesh with sun-coloured flowing hair and flawless skin like fresh cream. If he had known Elora was this beautiful then he would have married her last year, as his father had wished.

  She stirred in her sleep. I killed the one who cast this curse, so now they’re waking up, Anders realised.

  He strode up to her throne and impulsively kissed her mouth. Her lips suddenly moved against his. Anders jerked back in surprise and found himself staring into a pair of wide blue eyes.