Short Stories

I woke up bright and early today. The air felt different, crisp, and fresh. My excitement couldn’t be contained anymore. I flew out of bed, brushed my teeth as fast as I could and flew back to my room to get dressed. I planned my outfit two months in advance and couldn’t wait to wear it today. A new clean white tee and light washed jean shorts.

“Ant! Come down, dad got the car ready.” Finally, I can’t believe the day is here. I felt like it’d never come. “Coming.” I shouted running down the stairs at what felt like a mile a minute.

“Woah slow down, you’re going to break through the steps.” My mom said smiling and holding my arm when I reached the bottom.

“I can’t. I’m too excited mom, you know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” I said still catching my breath.

“I know I know, why don’t you grab some water bottles and make your way to the car.” Running to hold as many bottles as possible, I flew into the car dropping some on my way.

“Sorry mom!” I slammed the car door shut and checked my email. There it was my tickets. Staring up at me through my phone, glistening in all its glory. An email from The Time Capsule Corporation that revealed my dinosaur experience had been solidified.

The ride was long and nearly unbearable. Anxiously moving my leg, asking “Are we there yet?” every five minutes. Finally when it felt like I’d die if I waited any longer, we arrived at the front gates that towered over our car. It felt to me like they reached the clouds and went on forever. A young man greeted my parents through the window and motioned for us to leave the vehicle in order for him to park it. I flew out and grabbed their arms to run towards the gates.

“Anthony you’re going to take my whole arm off. If you need a snack for the dinosaurs, I’ll buy some, don’t use my arm.”

“You’re too slow you have to hurry, there isn’t enough time to see them all.”

“We have three hours kid; I think that’ll be more than enough.” My dad said letting go of my grasp. The view of the park finally physically stood before me. Not a picture, not a video, this was real. It felt too real. A brontosaur walked towards the crowd and roared loud enough to shake grass around him. Grazing him with the tip of my fingers I stared at my hand in awe. An announcement from the speakers went off, screeching before broadcasting the following message. “Unfortunately, all attractions and rides will be closing in five minutes. I repeat all attractions and rides will be closing in five minutes.”

“WHAT?” Five minutes, there’s no way. This can’t be happening I waited my whole life for this.

“Ant… I’m sorry.”

“No, I can’t leave!” Unfortunately, I got my wish. As crowds of people began exiting the attractions one of the dinosaurs peered through the gates we came through. From the outside in.

“BRAD! Get Anthony. Now!” People screamed in frequencies I never heard before. I was so frightened yet in pure awe and disbelief. I couldn’t move as the monster approached me. A beautiful beast. Hunger stricken and lost in time. Was this wrong? A Zoo in its finest formation. Historical embodiments like no other to the people. An animal stuck and forcefully placed in the wrong time… it had every right to be angry. My dad grabbed me and snatched my thoughts away with the harsh grip he held. Running alongside my mom and watching over his shoulder a warm tear escaped from my eye. Fires emerged from kiosks and people were pushed into the abyss as the beast moved them to the side. I cared more for the emotional state of the killer before me than my own. We made our way into the main office where The CEO of The Time Capsule would normally sit. We were high and protected for now. Before me stood hundreds of buttons and the classic red one. I understood his set up. I’ve studied it for years and knew what I had to do. As my parents held each other and cried I pushed the red button with zero hesitation triggering an alarm sequence.

“What did you do?”

“Freed them all. I-I’m sorry, I had to.” All animals ran for the gates and through the flames as the three of us watched.

“W-What? Why would you do this Anthony!” She kept screaming as I tuned it out and watched the beautiful bloody massacre through my tears. Eventually it was empty, and a rescue team came to search for survivors. My mom still ranted holding on to her free towel from the team.

“Don’t ever do something like that again Anthony. Do you hear me?” She shook me aggressively, harder, and harder. Until I was awoken up from my beautiful reoccurring dream.

"Put the money in the bag!" I demanded, with my newly purchased Glock 19 trembling in my grip. I wasn’t much of a robber, I’d say, besides that time I stole a few grapes from my neighbor’s yard when I was 10. They were good, and I don’t regret that but this, I might. I knew nothing about guns up until about twenty minutes ago when a gun dealer I found on Craigslist gave me the rundown. He was pretty cool for a felon. But here I was, with a gun I barely understood, and two fugitive partners I found from a Facebook group titled Bank Robbers Showstoppers.

"I said put the money in the bag!" My voice boomed through the bank, but they weren’t listening. I turned to grab a hostage — a middle-aged man crawling on all fours.

"You!” I said grabbing him by his collar and choking words I didn’t ask for out of him.

“Please I-I-I have a wife and three boys! They need me.” I pistol-whipped him to the ground in one hard shot before he could give another excuse. Okay, I know it’s a little harsh, but I promise you he’s not dead, just taking a long nap. My partner in crime since about twenty-three minutes ago jumped up and down laughing and spinning. His name is Gary, but we call him Goofy for obvious reasons.

“That’s what you get, that’s what you get,” Goofy said, slapping a young man’s head to the floor making a popping sound when his cheek clapped against the tile. He was laughing like how he was when he read Dr. Seuss on the drive over.

"Forget the bag, open the safe or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes," I threatened the teller.

“Okay, I-I’ll do it!” she said, rising from her seat with her arms up. As she led me to the safe, I examined her frame. She was wearing a tight pencil skirt that only allowed her to take small close-set steps. I wonder if she likes felons.

She opens the safe revealing everything we’d been waiting for. The money was beautiful, just like in the movies — green and clean like it’s just been printed. My eyes remained locked on what looked like a number of bills I couldn’t count to.

“Goofy, get Reaper.” Reaper was the opposite of Goofy. He even scared me sometimes but that’s not something I’d ever show. He got his name when he was sent away for having visions of The Grim Reaper for three years straight. He says it’s in him now or something.

Goofy came running in with Reaper and both their eyes lit up like kids seeing their first Christmas tree.

“Is this heaven?” Goofy fell to his knees and licked a wad of cash like the freak he was.

"Get up and fill the bags dip shit, we don’t have much time. You can eat it later.” Suddenly we were startled at the loud bang of the safe door slamming shut.

“Are you kidding me?” Reaper said grabbing Goofy by the neck and raising him off the floor. “You let go of the door?” Reaper’s voice got low before he killed people. So low the vibrations could be felt through the soles of your shoes. This wasn’t the first time I had to save Goofy’s life.

“I think I see the devil calling me,” Goofy said on the verge of death with no oxygen in his lungs, the words just escaping Reaper’s fingers against his throat.

“Put him down, we’ll find another way out.” Think, I thought when I felt a breeze move the hair off my face. Bingo.

“We need to reach that vent,” I said.

“What about this?” Reaper reaches for inflatable toys stuffed in a dusty corner of the safe.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Who’s gonna blow those up?” Reaper and I simultaneously turned to Goofy who was having a full-blown conversation with a five-dollar bill while rocking back and forth.

“Oh shh Mr. Five it’s gonna be okay, maybe we shouldn’t have done drugs.”

“Drugs? What are you talking about?” I stared at Goofy who began morphing into the shape of a big penny before my eyes. I shut them hard and opened them to the sight of Rick and Morty robbing a bank on my television.

“You good bro?” Gary said, pupils large and round next to me on the couch. “I told you the acid was strong.”

“You will be sentenced to life without parole!” There I was facing the judge, receiving news that would alter my life forever. Just for being a writer. You're probably wondering how I got here. So, let’s start from the beginning. No, I’m not a journalist or a news reporter, just a guy who refuses to let creativity die.

About five years ago the world as we knew it began to change forever. Humans were stripped of their right to creativity, deeming it as a crime punishable by law. The government banned all forms of art, including drawing, writing, music, film, pencils, paper, and more. Thousands were left without jobs. We were forced to live on—no melodies on the train as we traveled, no movies to end a long night of work, and no books to escape into when reality ate away at the last of our patience. No matter what, we refused to let them win and the war began.

About a month ago, I gathered a group of young artists who refused to fall under the wrath of our new world leader, Lon Nusk. We’d been working on a device that’d undo our new world order and restore life as it once was. Here I was: four friends, one plan, and my forbidden pencil and paper. “If Lon catches you with a pencil, we’ll never see you again.”

“Then let’s hope he doesn’t catch me,” I said to my colleague as I continued to write. We were in our last days of construction on our final plan. We called it Two Seven A—Tevin for short. Tevin was the implementation of a tiny rocket that’d send my letter to a planet just north of ours that seemed to be our last hope to save us from Lon. As he drilled the final couple of screws into Plan Tevin, I finished up my letter and sealed it with a lick.

“Here it is boys. The modern-day Declaration of Independence!” I held it high in the air as we all crowded around in awe. The last piece of paper, possibly in the world. Who knew one day that a paper with written words could possess such value? Who knew that creativity was a strong vessel that seemingly felt like the glue keeping us sane? I placed my paper into the rocket and all four of us carried it out on each end. Stepping onto the ladder first, I unlatched the hatch and they all followed closely behind. We soon stood outside before Tevin and all our hopes and dreams stared back at us.

“Should we pray or something?” a younger colleague suggested. After a moment of silence and a few quiet smiles, we sent her on her way.

Months turned into years as we awaited a response. The four of us began to lose hope as our home slowly became more unsafe by the day. Finally, five years after we sent the message, my youngest partner and I were the only ones left.

“They’ll find us if we stay here.”

“We can’t leave… What if they write us back?”

“And what if they don’t?” my colleague said, anger and sadness engulfing his expression. “It’s time to give up.” He stepped up the ladder and closed the hatch behind him. Silence. I shut my eyes to hold back tears when my partner came back, glowing with hope. “We got something!” He jumped down the ladder, tripping over empty cans of soup and chicken.

“Open it Johnny boy, open it!” I shouted and he began to read.

“Dear Tevin,

We’ve received your message, and it is with great regard that we inform you of our wholehearted support in your fight for freedom for creativity. Your resilience in the face of hardship is truly inspiring, and we stand with you in the fight against domination.

See you soon.

Sincerely,

Planet Acron”

“Johnny, you must find the others and inform them of what’s happened!” His eyes wide and attentive. A smile I hadn’t seen in years formed gracefully as he held tightly to the letter.

“I won’t let you down.” He gave me a long hug and went on his way. I sat there, holding down what was left of my home. Shortly after Johnny departed, Lon kicked down the hatch with an army above land that rumbled viciously. I was confident they wouldn’t find anything since we sent our last paper far into space, so I laughed confidently as they searched.

“This is your pencil, I reckon?” Lon said with a grin.

…and that’s when the trial began.

You’ve noticed how quiet it’s been since he passed. Staying home alone was no longer an option for you since the incident. You found yourself creeping into his room every night to lay in his bed and drown in the masculine odor of his cologne that still lingers on his favorite shirt. Plagued with unending tears that could no longer be wiped away by his large, strong hands. How could he leave you alone in this vicious, eternal nightmare? You knew at that moment… it was time to go.

You begin to pack your belongings as you notice his shirt hanging softly against the railing of the stairs. You know you shouldn’t bring it with you, but the thought of no longer being able to escape into its fabric — so softly woven with his essence — sends shivers down your spine. You grab it and go on your way.

Leaving the house was your only solution to escape this nightmare others call life. As you drive the car he died in, your vision slowly becomes blurred by tears. With one hard blink after another, you attempt to clear your eyes, but you are no longer able to see through the hot tears that have now fully devoured your sight. The windshield wipers snap left and right, angrily, and forcefully push the rain away. Your heart starts racing, thumping inside your chest like the rhythmic pounding of hooves in a deadly stampede. As you pull over, the sun sets, and you are left alone in the darkness of your thoughts again. Grabbing his shirt that lay gracefully in the passenger seat, you wipe away your tears and begin to drift into a world where he is still capable of holding you through anguish.

You’re awake now and begin making your way towards your destination. The cabin the two of you bought was the only place you thought of escaping to. The quiet, the emptiness — your only way out of this world while still physically remaining in it. Before you knew it, there it was towering before you. It was dark now and the snow swallowed the grass that once bloomed around it, turning once-lively scenery into a hollow, distressing landscape. You step out of the car and stand before its ghastly presence. The snow shields the roof and the trees perfectly, covering them in what looks like a soft white sheet. You grab his shirt and keys as you make your way through the storm. Tears still fall from your face but less frequently now, summoned by the ghostly scent of his presence that still haunts you.

When you open the large brown door and switch on the lights, the first thing you notice is the warmth that engulfs the entirety of your soul. It feels as if he’ll be in the kitchen again, cooking rotini and sauce that was never really that good. You smile involuntarily and make your way up towards the rooms. The cabin’s lights are warm and golden, like a sunrise that never ends. Propping yourself onto the bed, you close your eyes and imagine him beside you, letting yourself drift away.

You sit up sharply in the middle of the night and reach out your hand to place it on his chest. The vacant spot next to you serves as a never-ending reminder that never fails to ache. The sound of a faint phone ringing can be heard from a distance. Until this moment, you were unaware there was a landline in the cabin, but you curiously make your way toward the sound. You find yourself in the living room reaching for the phone strategically placed next to the fireplace. You pick up and hear nothing but a faint breath. “Hello?” you say. “Who is this?” Silence. Sitting up, ready to go back to sleep, the phone rings again. Slamming it against your ear you shout, “Who is this?” Silence swallows your question for a long moment when you finally receive a muffled, low answer: “I will always love you.” You drop the phone in pure disbelief. What kind of sick prank? Who would do this to you?

Picking up the phone off the floor, you look for the number who called, ready to call it back and unleash your anger on whoever’s on the other side. In shock, you hear a phone from upstairs begin to ring. You drop the receiver and run anxiously into your room to see your phone ringing underneath his shirt — the same shirt you clutched all evening, the one that still smells like him.

For a moment the world tilts and your breath stops. The ringing stops. Then, soft and impossibly familiar, a voice — his voice? — whispers in your memory. You press the phone to your ear with trembling hands and listen, hoping for explanation, for reason, for a cruelty that can be named. The line is dead on arrival. Outside, the wind picks up and the snow presses against the windows like someone knocking gently, waiting.

You stand there holding the shirt, the phone, and a thousand unanswered questions, and somewhere between the ringing and the silence you realize grief has ways of ringing in your ear long after the world is quiet. You don’t know if it was a prank, a glitch, or something that belongs to another kind of sorrow entirely — but you do know you will sleep with the lights on tonight.

I shot up in the middle of the night after just having a petrifying nightmare. I dripped in sweat as the thump of my heartbeat shook my entire body. Breathing heavily, attempting to catch my breath, I reached over for my glass of water from the night before, now at room temperature, and chugged every last drop. Peering out the window as I sat at the edge of my bed, I squinted at the sight of my neighbor’s house across the street. Ms. Rosemary could be seen frantically overpacking her four-by-four truck with three suitcases, six travel bags, and whatever else she could fit without worrying about a car accident.

I stood up and gently placed my empty glass of water on the night table beside me as I slid my curtain open slightly. Can you blame me for being curious? Four in the morning on a Monday night. The cul-de-sac I lived in was close-knit and everyone knew each other. When I say close-knit, I mean the whole neighborhood knew when Ms. Rosemary cheated on Mr. Rosemary with Dr. Elijah James to buy her husband a new Tesla for his raise at the office. We all know where we work, our hobbies, and how we like to spend our free time. There are pros and cons to it of course, but in a situation like this, everyone should know where the Rosemarys were going tonight.

Her husband slammed the trunk, grabbed the kids, and hurriedly buckled them in the backseat. His wife had a petrified look on her face as she ran for the passenger seat. He floored the gas so hard the neighborhood echoed at the screech of their tires. I was confused and my mind wandered, but at the same time, I guess I’m not entitled to everyone’s business. I grabbed the empty glass to go downstairs for a refill when I heard a car door slam outside my window. Are they back already, I thought. Opening the curtain once again, it was at that moment I knew something was up.

The house across from the Rosemarys held a new young couple who just moved in about a month or two ago, Janet and Collin. Janet sat in the driver’s seat with her face buried in the palm of her hands. When she looked up it was clear to me that it may be my turn to evacuate. Collin had two large suitcases in each of his hands and struggled to load them in the backseat. Clothes fell, shoes rolled across the street, and a runaway Louboutin looked like the least of Janet’s concerns.

“Hurry!” she screeched to Collin as he loaded the car with gas. He didn’t even bother to close the gas cap completely as it leaked down the side, dripping sparingly to the ground. He got in, floored the pedal, and only made it to the end of the street before the car began to lose control at the sudden outburst of intensity. The tires slid across the ground screeching against the concrete as the rubber lit on fire. In seconds the car burst into flames from the dripping gas cap, lighting the neighborhood as if it were day.

My arm involuntarily went up protecting my face from the glass that shattered before my eyes. I was thrown back by the impact, banging my head on the floor of my room. I lay there surrounded by smoke and debris as I grabbed my nightstand for support. I could hear the cries of other families and smell the burning flesh and rubber emanating from my window, but the worst sight was yet to occur. As I felt the glass crack under my toes, my mind was empty. I finally got myself to rise from the ground, traumatized by the events that had just occurred.

When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I decided to look out the window one last time. Big mistake. The remaining neighbors in my cul-de-sac who tried to evacuate along with everyone else were caught on fire, running aimlessly around the neighborhood, screaming in agony. Some rolled on the grass in hopes of easing the burning, while others lay lifeless. When my brain finally began to process the hell that broke loose before me, I decided to run downstairs for the house phone. Stumbling over my robe and limping from the deep wounds of glass, I managed to make it down the stairs to call 911. It was pitch black and the only light in my house was the large fire peeking through windows in my living room.

My shaky, bloody hand frantically slid across the walls in search of a switch. Once found, to my amazement, it didn’t turn on. I flicked it harder as if this would generate some kind of miracle, but nothing. House phone, house phone, I thought, attempting to keep my aim straight and organize my thoughts. I reached for the phone while my hand shook so hard it was almost impossible to punch in the numbers. Forgetting the number for 911, I slapped my hand on my head with tears streaming from my face, crying out, “Come on. Come on!”

I covered the numbers in a bloody pattern of 911 and held the phone up to my face. A large bang from right outside my window startled me and I let out an involuntary cry, jolting up suddenly. “Hello!” I screamed into the phone. Again, a louder bang shook the neighborhood as the fire grew immensely, devouring anything in its path. “Hello?” I screamed again. It was then that I noticed the unthinkable… the phone hadn’t even rung. No power.

I left it off the hook and jolted for my cell phone upstairs. I always leave it charging overnight and knew for a fact it would be on one hundred percent. Climbing desperately up the stairs on all fours, I jumped over debris and grabbed my phone on the night table. To my dismay, a black screen. I held the on button and nothing came up, not even a no-power symbol which should always show. My last resort was to get in my car and drive, but I didn’t know where to go or what I was in for. I stumbled back down the stairs, put on shoes, and hesitantly opened the door.

The first thing I noticed was a cool aroma of bone-chilling air that blew my hair back with a breeze. Despite the fact it was summer, no heat came from the flames around me as if the air was too cold to feel it. Fires emerged from the houses and what was left of bodies continued to burn on the ground. I got in my car and turned the engine on. Where am I going? What the hell is going on? I drove aimlessly out of the neighborhood as I passed burning cars and bodies. I was startled by a bang at my window from one of my now unrecognizable neighbors.

“Help me!” he cried. I looked into his eyes, not having the strength to drive any faster. He slammed his fiery hands on the window continuously in an attempt to get my attention. “I-I can’t help you. Please… I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” I floored the gas and unfortunately looked back in my windshield. I watched as he chased the car, his flesh tearing away within the flames.

I shut my eyes hard and opened them quickly. I was finally outside of the cul-de-sac, but after seeing the world before me… the cul-de-sac didn’t look so bad. The streets were empty and possessed nothing but an eerie, grim feeling of an indescribable deathly sensation. I drove slowly through the fog-infested thick air, leaving the cul-de-sac behind as a distant memory in the unfolding chapters of my journey.