Tag Archives: Short story

Short Story: Jane’s Christmas Shoes

Red Shoes and Christmas with Jane

Red heels and Jane. Photo: Helen Harrop, (CC BY-SA 4.0), via Flickr

Jane’s Christmas Shoes

Christmas time was coming soon. Jane was only seven years old, but she felt like a big girl. She stood in her mom’s red High heeled shoes that she found in the closet at home and walked around with them on her feet. She nearly tripped doing that last week, and her dad giggled along with her as he caught her in his arms.

“Your mom doesn’t even wear those Red shoes anymore,” he said to her, “so you can have them, Jane.”

How Jane loved those high heeled shoes. She wore them around the house, snuck them In her backpack to wear at school and even kept them under her blanket with her when she went to bed each night.

Then, last week, on the car ride home from school, Jane asked her mom why there was a lady walking on the sidewalk in Sandals.

“That’s silly, mom,” Jane said from the car’s backseat. “That woman doesn’t even know it’s winter and her feet will be cold. Why doesn’t she have proper warm shoes on like I do?”

Jane’s mom didn’t respond as she drove them home. Once back at their house, she took Jane to the couch and explained to her That the woman was homeless, which meant the woman didn’t have enough money to buy winter shoes.

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Lost and Almost Found: A Short Story

mailboxes

Mailboxes and relationships, in a short story. Are you lost and almost found?

I was a lack of silence that Jesse never quite knew what to do with. Our playtime became less and less, while my worries grew like rocks that had some undiscovered purpose.

And my worries lined within themselves, seemingly doubling with each day that passed away.

“I’m going to the store,” I said through the opening between the kitchen counter and the living room.

Jesse sat on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, right leg over left, right as I had left him a half hour ago as I went to clean the bathroom.

“Mmmph” or something like that came from his mouth, the opening that once opened into more than one, two or three word snippets. He didn’t look up from the book in his lap, and a curl fell over his forehead.

I turned back toward the open fridge and double checked my list. Carrots, broccoli, chicken, oranges, skim milk… It was all there.

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Short Story: Harold is So Demanding

Woman sits at office desk

At the office desk. Short story time! Image via OpenClipArt.org

Hi everyone! Happy new week and wishing you a great day. I haven’t written a short story here for a while so I thought today is a good day for it. Enjoy Harold’s demanding ways… or, well, you’ll see…

So Demanding

Harold hadn’t always been annoying, or at least not since the job interview two weeks ago. Then when I came through the office door today he was already complaining about my skirt being too short.

I mean, it’s not like I was wearing bikini bottoms! It wasn’t that short, and a zebra stripe pattern was quite appealing, if I do say so myself. He was likely just feeling all put out because his wife wasn’t putting out anymore. I mean it’s not my fault that she’s double my age! Heck, he’s even older than that so it’s no wonder he doesn’t reek of mothballs.

I was so tired of Harold, as tired as he was old, and here he was standing over me at my desk and talking to me about how I didn’t get that Press Release written on time. I mean, didn’t he know that I couldn’t concentrate when my nails hadn’t been filed yet? Was it really that difficult to understand? I didn’t even bother trying to explain it for the second time.

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Short Story: Beethoven Never Saw it Coming

Short Story Words

colourized, CC BY-ND 2.0, via Flickr

“Brian.”

Silence followed Mary’s vocal cords. As usual, her voice enjoyed its sound more than the student it were aiming for.

“BRIAN!”

The vocal cords were not rewarded with a response, even at the heightened level. Why is it that she had thought larger proportions would bring a head nod or at least an eye roll from him? After all, her weight gain hadn’t made her husband look twice at her; which didn’t make sense really given that he regularly ogled the waitress with the large rear-end at the bakery.

Shaking off this thought, Mary walked over to Brian’s desk and tapped her red fingernails on his desk. He jumped in his plastic yellow chair and turned his head up toward her frowning face.

“Did you hear my question to the class?” she asked him.

His mind fumbled like it was holding a football on an ice-cold day. Words came and went in his mind – “mimic,” “Beethoven,” “choral,” “Symphony 9” and “score.” Lines scattered between the words but no web formed.

“I just – “

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