In the middle of the day, 2:53 to be exact, on a Wednesday, at the beginning of spring before the frost had fully lifted from the trees, and shrubbery, and grass, and flowers I found myself walking, shirtless, to a person’s house I had never met. It was still a little chilly. Too chilly to be walking around outside without a shirt on, but I had to make due with what I had available at the time. Unfortunately for me all I had available were shoes, socks, pants, a belt, and underwear. I was unsure as to where my shirt had gone, but that didn’t really matter. I was fairly certain the person I was going to visit would not be too offended by my lack of attire. After all, I was on my way to ask him if I could borrow a cup of flour. The reason why I had to walk the .8 miles to this particular house, on this particular day, at this particular time, was unbeknownst to me. I had been delivered the information weeks ago, in the mail, when a mail carrier, who was NOT my normal mail carrier, dropped off the daily mail. In that particular delivery, instead of just the normal flyers for coupons and sales at stores I would never find myself shopping at, there was an envelope. It was a manilla colored envelope of unusual size. Instead of being the size of a standard letter, or even a legal letter for that matter, it looked more like the size of a poorly planned Save-the-Date card for a wedding I wouldn’t have wanted to attend anyway. Continue reading The Invite
The fan was spinning on the medium setting. Not quite fast enough for the optical illusion of the blades spinning backwards to occur, but still fast enough enough to make it impossible to count how many blades were attached to the fulcrum. I laid there. On the floor. Staring up at the fan. Wondering exactly what I should do next. I was lost. Scared. Alone for the first time in my life. All I wanted was to run away. Leave everything behind me. Forget my past. Forget my life. Forget who I was. Start over in a new place. With a new name. With a new story. One I could be proud of. Not the person I had become. Not this imposter living a life nobody would want to emmulate. Not…who I had become. Not…me. Not…John. Continue reading The Fan Blades
This story is actually older than many of my followers, and anyone who has read Dear Jack: Diary of an Addict has already read this story, but I loved it so much I wanted to share it with the entire world. I wrote it when I was in my late teens, early twenties. It has been one of my favorites, and one that truly solidified my desire to be a writer. I hope everyone enjoys this one as much as I do, every time I read it again.
Ladies and Gentlemen, my short story, “Orange Moon”
I opened my eyes and blinked away the light film that covered my pupils every morning. The sunlight exploding through the room blinded me for a minute as my eyes adjusted to the sudden change from darkness to light. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, but the pounding in my temples led me to believe that I was having fun last night.
I sat up in a strange bed—nothing more than a futon on a metal frame only a few inches off the floor—and looked around the room. I was surrounded with white. The curtains, the walls, the carpets, the sheets, the furniture—everything was white, reflecting the early morning sun violently in every direction. The clothes that had been carelessly tossed to the floor at some point last night injected the room with an unexpected splash of color.
I rubbed my temples in a vain attempt to subside the headache that was growing worse by the second and making it hard to see anything in the too-bright colorless room. I took a deep breath, hoping that the taste of day-old beer and stale cigarettes would magically disappear with the fresh air of a new day. Continue reading Prologue to “Diary of an Addict”