Short Stories – Saying Much In Few Words

A revolving selection from short stories I wrote in years past. They are mainly sci-fi or futuristic, some published and some not. I warn you that these were written twenty or more years ago, so be gentle in your criticism.

A Matter of Law

Rik rested his cheek against the cold stock of his rifle, looking through the scope.? He watched the predator warily edging through the trees in the glen below.It stopped and drank from the stream. Rik rested his finger on the trigger. Suddenly, … Continue reading → ...

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A December Dirge

The old man stared out the window, watching the snow drifting down behind the cut-glass panes. At least he thought it was snow. It could be his blurred vision. The reflection of the twinkling Christmas tree lights made it even … Continue reading → ...

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Parts Is Parts

Willis Williams leaned back in his time-worn oak desk chair and relit his half-chewed cigar.  His white shirt stretched tightly across his ample waistline.  It spoke of too many beers and pizzas.  His Levis were held up by a wide … Continue reading → ...

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Probing Feelings

To head a department at NASA you had to be smart, competent and efficient. To be a woman and head a department at NASA you had to be very smart, very competent and very efficient. You also had to be … Continue reading → ...

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My Mother Never Said

(Flash Fiction currently published on the Dan O’Brien Project and on Ineffective Ink)

My mother never said ‘I love you’ to my father. I knew she really did. Love him, that is. If he were even a few minutes late coming home from work, she would worry. It was a long drive and she would wonder aloud if he had been in an accident, nervously basting the roast to keep it from drying out or stirring the soup to keep it from sticking. But when he walked in the door, it was ‘What took you so long?’ and a glare rather than ‘I love you,’ and a kiss. When I did see her kiss him, like when my two sisters and I threw them a surprise party on their 40th wedding anniversary, it was quickly and self-consciously. And without the words, ‘I love you.’ Why was it so hard for her to say those three words to my father when she could say them to us children? Perhaps it was because my grandmother, widowed when my mother was an infant, never provided a role model. Maybe in her early, formative years, she never heard a woman say them to a man. I am no psychologist, so I can only speculate. Could anyone say why with certainty? At my father’s funeral, I thought I saw her mouth those three words to his body, lying cold and dead in the casket, as she rested her hand on the hard, varnished wood. Even then, she never said them aloud.