Stories to intrigue, told in 2K words or less.
In honor of the holiday, a story meant for those of us without a “standard” Valentine’s day to enjoy.
It’s called:
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She broke my heart earlier today, with a soft push to get past me, and a look of severe discomfort. This woman, the one I looked at for so long, the first person to ever let me have the strength to be this brave, shattered me.
The way only a person I care for can. Continue reading
The options are unlimited, the outcomes uncountable, the word count: roughly 600 words. May I present a story that you have not will read. A story of layers, and layers, of possibility.
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The pond ripples underneath my fingertips, and my face sputters into a mess of stretching lines and round curves. And it spreads across the entire pond, in however small a way. I take a drop and smear it across my forehead, and it feels cold with the summer heat.
It’s tempting to plunge my entire hand into the froth, and feel the strains against my skin, but I can’t, not here, not now.
I catch the eyes of a few other park patrons, and it seems as good a time as any to walk away. So I do. And I don’t. And some days its seems hard to tell how many ways I can be wrong and right at the same time. Continue reading
I thought I was done with them. That they were gone. But they would not leave my head. So, as another first for this site, may I present the first “Flash Fiction Trilogy” to ever grace Coolerbs Writes.
I have no idea if there will ever be another. Or even if I will finally be able to leave these characters alone. But until then, enjoy the third installment in this weird story about the end of this world.
If you haven’t already, I HIGHLY suggest you read “My Fingers Are Cold” and its sequel “My Feet Are Cold” before you even attempt this one.
For everyone else, let’s begin:
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Our hearts are cold, so he snuggles up between us. He is warmth. He radiates it from every inch of his skin. From his still growing hair, to his hands no larger than our fists. He opens his eyes, and stares at us with those globes of pure yellow light.
Continue reading
Marking a first time for this blog: a direct sequel story. If you haven’t read “My Fingers Are Cold” then I recommend you do. Or none of this is going to make any sense.
And for those who have already. May I present:
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My feet are cold, so I wrap them in the last of my bandages. I once had shoes. But I wore them out a long time ago.
So now, as I run up the hill and along the street, my feet are perpetually cold. Continue reading
My fingers are cold. So I rub them together and hope for friction. Me breathing on them is the only sound for miles and miles. And the ash spreads across my knuckles.
I pull my jacket tighter to my body, and walk towards the shell of a building. My feet leaving prints in the soot.
I hold out my hands and hope for some warmth from the wreckage. But it’s as cold as everything else in this world.
I tuck my hands underneath my arms and hope for my pits to offer something close to heat. I keep my head down when the wind picks up.
It sounds like someone talking. Saying over and over again the word that graces my lips every few minutes. “Cold” it says. And I can almost see the wreckage of a man whisper it through a shattered jaw bone and fleshless grin. Continue reading
“No, come on, will you please look at this?”
If the term cold shoulder was literal, she would resemble an ice princess. As it stands, she’s wearing a fire red shirt that hugged her upper body as hard as I want to most of the time.
“No, Kevin. We’re not doing this. That machine…what you do…it’s not healthy. When did you even last go outside?”
Trying to not let her notice, I roll down my jacket sleeve and look at my skin. If light hit that, I’d probably blind someone.
“Well…it’s been awhile, I’ll admit. But you know how important this device is to me.”
“Yes. Yes I do.” She keeps her back to me, and lets out a long sigh. “Important is definitely the right word for it. I remember when other things were important to you.” Continue reading
Little Billy had a Christmas wish. In point of fact, he had several. Several little things he’d like.
He had a friend named Sarah, whose hair he thought was pretty. It was nothing more than that. He was too young to love her, to think her a crush. But he did think her hair was pretty. So he wished for similar. For his head to have as nice a blond look as her.
And so he did. When Christmas day came around he found inside his gift a wig, which he proudly placed on his head.
Now, Little Billy was a popular kid. He had many warm friends. And some of them also had things he wanted.
He had a friend name Kyle, whose feet found sports easy and quick. He could make so many baskets that Little Billy could not. And Little Billy was, admittedly, a bit jealous. Just a little. He wished he could run and jump so well. Continue reading
He puts down three glasses in front of me.
“Drink.”
He holds out his hands, palms upward, gesturing over them.
“Have a drink.”
“Do I have a choice?”
”Of course you do. You get to pick which one to drink.”
I lean across the table, getting as close to him as I can. My tape recorder’s still going in my pocket.
“And then you’ll tell me who killed Becca?”
“Of course.” Continue reading
The sound of an alarm pushes its way into my consciousness. I was awake a second ago from my perception. Probably about twenty minutes asleep.
Oh, who am I kidding? It was exactly twenty minutes.
“Hello sir. It’s wake up time.”
“I know, I know, thanks Charlie.”
“You’re welcome sir. However my name is not Charlie.” Continue reading
From days far-flung forward, I give you dear reader:
A Bit Of The Future
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“It won’t hurt a bit.”
Syringe inside my arm. A cold steel table. The doctor walks out of the room, tossing his gloves into the disposal on his way out.
My body goes numb, and limbs flop onto the surface of the table. The harness tightens, and the whole thing moves horizontal to the floor. My head lurches forward until a strap straightens it up. My eyes are so heavy…. Continue reading
A story with some characters you may be rather familiar with…
Teatime In A Curious Place
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“I really don’t feel like being logical at the moment dear. Could you return when I’m in a better mood?” the man says, smashing a few tea cups with his cane. Continue reading
Let’s finish this!
May I present, the eagerly awaited third part of…Hunting Range!
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“Filthy breeder thinks he can hide,” one of them says, the machine in his hands giving him directions to where I am. Continue reading
The action continues…with the second part of Hunting Range!
If you haven’t seen the first part, join in on the dystopia thriller by clicking here: PART 1
For everyone caught up, here’s part 2!
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I don’t think about my destination, only about the line I walk. I keep moving from side to side with skittering, random steps; left and then right, a lurch every time I feel a bead being drawn on my back. Continue reading
Stretching the definition of “flash fiction” a tad, I present a three-part story.
A story of a city where the worst crime you can commit, is the most natural thing in the world.
It’s called:
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The pregnancy test shows positive, and now we run for our lives. Continue reading
I now present the second part of Guitar Case!
If you haven’t read the first part, then click here: PART ONE
For the rest of you, let’s begin.
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And indeed he was not curious, there was no reason to open the case. It was a backup guitar. It was only there in case his main one broke. So far, he had never needed to open it. Continue reading
Coolerbs Writes 