Three story ideas that may or may not be explored...
Warning: If you’re looking for a completed story, sorry, this isn’t the right post for you.
I would, however, like to point you to the other stories on this website. Simply search for the phrase “short story” and you’ll find them.
Or, join me at Substack and look for the publication “Wordplay”. Here’s a direct link!
One of the best things about writing without an outline is not knowing where the story will go. It’s also one of the scariest things, as I’ve no idea where I’ll end up.
Many times I’ve started a story, believing that it’s one thing, only to be surprised by my creative voice, which turned it into something entirely surprising and unexpected.
It’s those little moments of surprise that make discovery writing addictive!
As the warning above implies, you won’t find finished stories in this week’s newsletter, but you will find some interesting ideas that may be worth exploring.
Which one’s your favorite? Which ones make you yawn? I’d really love to hear from you.
Underground Subversion
“What if I told you the 2028 Presidential election was stolen by the mole people?
“Who are the mole people you ask? Well, I can’t say as I know, but what I can say is they are very interested in politics. Specifically, American politics.”
“Bullshit. I don’t buy it. Who in the heck ever heard of mole people? Are you serious? Where do they come from? No, don’t tell me, underground, right?”
“Shut up Carl, nobody asked you. Let me finish my story.”
“Fine, whatever, but…”
Becky did her best to stare a hole into Carl’s left eye, the one that tends to go a little wonky when he’s not feeling good or is tired, but he just grinned, made a zipping motion across his lips, and sat back in his chair.
“As I was saying…” she paused to make sure Carl didn’t interrupt again, “the mole people stole the 2028 Presidential elections. They had their people in place, everywhere the race was tight, somebody was there to make sure the voting places were flooded with votes for their Presidential pick.”
Carl couldn’t help himself. His face grew redder by the minute until he burst out loud. “Don’t you mean Presidential Prick?”
“Ha, ha…just like you to make a joke out of it. I’m being serious you idiot. Mom should have left you for the wolves to raise.”
Her brother was laughing so hard he began gasping for air, tears running down his face. Then suddenly he stopped, his eyes wide, as he pointed to something behind Becky.
She jerked her head back to see what he was pointing at just as he sputtered, “Look there’s one now…squeak!”
“That’s fine. Go ahead, don’t believe me. But when you’ve got one visiting your bedroom one night, don’t come crawling to me. I WILL tell you ‘I told you so’.”
Beware the Barista
“What does it take to convince you that I’ve got this?
“I mean, I’ve only been doing this for how many years? Three at least…so…”
“I don’t care if you’ve been doing this a hundred years, the point is, that I want it done how I said I want it done, and that’s all there is to it. Kapish?”
“But…”
“No ifs, no ands, and no buts! Now, are you going to do it how I say, or do I need to find someone else?”
The barista studied the man standing across the counter. He was short. Perhaps even shorter than her, and was dressed in a well-tailored, navy blue suit, complete with a pink shirt and garishly pink paisley tie.
Red, puffy lips poked out from underneath a well-groomed mustache, whose ends had been tightly twisted and held in place by wax.
The remainder of his face was clean-shaven, with the exception of a square, inch-wide crop of hair under his lower lip, that moved rapidly with every insult he tossed her way.
Are you kidding me? You don’t even know how to dress…
Choking back the insult, she finished the man’s mocha latte with vanilla whip, took his money (no tip, of course), and told Joe she was taking her break.
A Little Birdie Told Me
“That’s impossible…nobody knows what happened to him.”
“I do.”
“Yeah? How’s that?”
“I saw it, as clear as day.”
“I thought you said you were with you wife that day?” The detective studied the small, brown sparrow that lit upon the crumbling ledge outside his office window. She appeared unconcerned with the precarious nature of her perch as she pecked at the window before taking flight again. “When you can fly, I’d say that all fear is gone. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. You were telling me about what happened to Roberts…”
“Yes, well, I can’t prove it, but I’m almost one hundred percent sure that he turned into the haberdashers on Jefferson Street, about an hour before he was reported missing.”
“And…where were you?”
“I’d been promising Angela I’d take her out for weeks, so when I finally got a break in my schedule, I told her, “hey, why don’t we try that new Chinese restaurant over on Bishop?”
“Okay, so when did you say you saw him…before or after you ate at Li’s?”
“Before. I’d lost the address, so we were looking around for the place when I noticed the professor walk into the store.”
“And then what did you do?”
“Nothing. I figured he wanted to buy a hat or something, I don’t know. When Angela finally spotted the right street we went to eat. Then we went home. Wanna know anything else?”
“No, that’s fine. By the way, what did you think when you heard the next morning that he’d thrown himself from the top floor of the Mad Hatter’s?
“Well, I kinda felt sad if you wanna know the truth. The rumor mill around campus was that his wife was gonna ask him for a divorce, so I figured maybe that’s why he offed himself.”
Nodding, the detective stood. “Right. Now, what department did you say you worked in?”
“Uh, finances…why?”
“Thought so.” The detective slapped a book on his desk in front of his only suspect. He sighed. “So…think maybe this had something to do with Roberts’ death?”
The rotund administrator peered over his glasses at the book. It was his second ledger, the one he kept hidden under a loose board under his bed.
“You see Matthews…we know what Roberts was up to, and we also know your involvement in it. Come clean now, and they’ll probably take it easy on you.”
“But I…”
Suddenly, the man’s voice shifted, grew stronger.
“No, I don’t think you will, detective. You see, we were successful, only Roberts had no idea what he’d created. He had no vision. I do. So, sorry to tell you, but I’m not going anywhere with you today.”
Then, moving more quickly than it appeared possible, the man rushed the detective, pushed him aside, and then leapt out of the open window.
The detective stared at the sidewalk, certain his eyes were deceiving him. The man was gone. Nowhere to be seen. He should have been dead; in fact, any normal human would be, jumping out of a third-story window. Or at least injured. What was he dealing with?
If you enjoy short stories (me too!), here’s a link to my backlist, as it now stands.
Note: Starting March 1st, my stories will be included in Smashwords’ annual Read an Ebook Sale!
Check out the link to find your next read!
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