Selected Short Stories (all under 600 words)

The Price

In the middle of the ocean, there was a girl who lived upon a rock. 

“She’s been there for as long as anybody can remember,” a sailor in a port city once said. “I’m not sure how she passes the time.”

The girl’s skin was translucent, her eyes were fierce, and she was so far separated from the chaos of humanity that her beauty was preserved forever.

It had been decades since anybody had visited or heard from her, something that made her a legend at all the seaside towns.

Everybody talked about the girl.

She was adored by people she would never meet and her name echoed in places she would never visit.

“What a shame,” the girl once thought. “To be so breathtaking, so popular, and still so lonely.”

Manager

When Lena Rosen got the news she had waited on for so long, she sped home, rushed into the master bedroom, and collapsed into the arms of her bedridden husband.

“We did it, baby!” she sobbed loudly. “I got the job. The bills, the mortgage, Matt’s college fund. It’s all going to be okay.”

Lena had spent more than half of her life at a company where she was undermined, underestimated, and underpaid.

“Today totally kicked my ass,” she could often be overheard explaining to her peers at happy hours. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”

Her promotion to management was supposed to change all of that.

The night before she started her new role, the middle aged breadwinner ironed her most radiant dress, polished her best set of heels, and paced around her home to shake out all the excitement.

The following morning, Lena took a few minutes at the end of the daily meeting to give a brief speech.

“I’m incredibly excited for the future,” she said with hope in her voice. “I’ve known almost everybody here for as long as I can remember so you’re all basically my family.

Lena’s team of a dozen, some of whom she beat out for the position, clapped lightly and nodded along.

Then the boss made her way into her new office where she spent a few hours updating her email signature, working through timesheets, and assigning tasks.

“Joey!” she messaged one of her longtime colleagues. “Hope you and Elizabeth have been well!! Also please have that presentation ready for me by 5PM!”

Around lunchtime, Lena heard a roar of laughter in the break room. She rushed out of her office to see what was so funny, but as she approached a small cluster of her new subordinates the chatter tapered off.

By the time she arrived to join the conversation, all was silent. Her former friends traded awkward glances for a few moments before she understood what was going on.

Lena clasped her hands behind her back and looked down at her feet as she slowly backed away.

“Well alrighty,” she said in a choked whisper. “Go team.”

The new boss retreated to her office, scarfed down a cold sandwich, and sipped a diet soda. Just as she began to feel sorry for herself, she got a text from her husband.

“Checking in,” he wrote. “How is my little power broker doing?”

Lena started to cry. She let it all out for about thirty seconds before collecting herself and responding.

“There’s just a lot of transition” she messaged back. “I love you so much and let me know what you wanted to do for dinner.”

Mad Man

Aaron Chambers spent more than a decade in the ivory tower debating isms, shopping the market place of ideas, and searching for truth.

A day after he abandoned his post, the anxious man felt the need to synthesize all that he had learned. 

Aaron prepared a strong cup of coffee, settled into his study, and pulled out a copy of his dissertation. He skimmed the most important parts for about an hour and then pulled out a notebook.

The single thirty one year old then spent a while staring at a blank page and racking his brain before slowly penning the only thing that came to mind.

“The universe is indifferent,” he wrote.

The words on the page sent a chill down his spine and he reread them over and over again until his heart nearly imploded.

Aaron ripped the page out of the notebook, threw it in the trash, and darted out of his condo. He walked forever and ever until he found himself seated at a bus stop in a busy shopping center.

The smell of exhaust and the hum of foot traffic pushed him into a dissociative state and time stopped. When Aaron finally came to, he noticed a young mother and her toddler getting onto a bus.

The mom spent nearly a minute rummaging through her purse before finally admitting the truth to the driver.

“I think I lost my wallet,” she explained as she slung her son over her shoulder. “Sorry for the trouble.”

Without hesitation, the driver pulled a card out of his wallet, swiped it on the scanner in front of him, and waved the family on board.

Only then did Aaron understand the idea he had spent so much of his life trying to articulate. 

As soon as the bus pulled away, he sprinted home, popped open his notebook, and finished his thought.

“The universe is indifferent,” he scrawled across the page. “But that doesn’t mean we have to be.”

Little cat gets adopted...

The baby kitty must’ve had a long journey, because when she finally arrived at her destination on the big day, she was distraught.

“Oh sweetie,” said her new mother from the other side of a pet carrier. “You’re so little.”

The sterile crate’s metal door then swung open. 

After a few moments of hesitation, the four pound shorthair clumsily spilled out onto the apartment’s vinyl floor. Her entire body was shivering.

“We found her on the frontage road this morning,” said the new father. “I think her mom got hit by a car. She looked so scared.”

He reached down to comfort his new baby, but before he could, she made a beeline for the bedroom.

“It’s okay, Clementine,” the adoptive father called after her. “You’re home now.”

The words of encouragement were surely lost on the frantic kitty cat because she scurried around the room in a frenzy until she eventually wound up in a walk-in closet.

Upon finding its darkest and most obscure corner, she curled her body up tightly, closed her eyes, and let out a purr.

The Native

Sometime senior year, Monica Sakari Caldwell began to embrace her heritage.

“We emerged from the sea and followed the calls of songbirds to our homeland,” she preached at a talent competition. “Then you Europeans came.”

After graduation, Monica spent a decade in academia researching, writing about, and advocating for her people.

“We pass history down through oral tradition,” she said during a thesis defense. “Western standards of judgment imposed by colonialism are meaningless to us.”

Monica became a star.

“We’re proud to announce a new addition to our research department,” a national museum wrote in a press release. “One of the leading indigenous voices of the day, an expert on oral histories.” 

Before she even turned thirty, Monica was the de-facto spokesperson of her people.

“This land was barren before my ancestors arrived and asked the heavens for water,” she said on primetime. “Most western ‘archeology’ is simply unable to capture that sort of truth.”

Monica spent the next decade designing exhibits, learning her native tongue, and setting the record straight.

“We farmed the land and cared for our elders in peace,” she told historians. “We built a complex social system free from the influences of capitalism and settler colonialism.”

Then one day, some pesky archaeologists put out a report.

“Early scans show native burial grounds may have remains of enslaved people,” a newswire reported. “Full excavation required to confirm.”

Monica must’ve realized that something was on the line, because without even realizing it, she pulled out her phone and used the press.

“Grave robbing is a slap in the face to the dead and it's also a form of colonialism,” she told all who would listen. “We need to have a long conversation about why so many feel entitled to our history.”

Karnack

Late Saturday evening, Julian parked his busted Protege in front of his apartment and then just took a moment. 

“When things get hectic,” his therapist’s words echoed. “Remember to stop and breathe.” 

The single thirty year-old closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but before he could exhale, he got a push notification. 

“Past due balance,” the bank reminded him. “This is your final notice.” 

Julian nearly exploded into a panic attack, but before he could, he yanked himself out of the car and darted toward his front door. 

Then the second he entered, he received a lecture from his recently adopted kitten, a tabby named Mazie.

“You’re late, you idiot!” the five pound shorthair hissed. “Now go get me my food!” 

Julian was still learning.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized as he quickly popped open a can of pate. “Please don’t yell at me.”

As the annoyed kitty was eating, Julian cleaned out her litter box and swept up all the hair around the dingy studio. Then for some reason, he decided to make things worse for himself. 

The lonely man settled into his futon, opened an old photo album on his phone, and reminisced about better days. He eventually scrolled enough to regret everything. 

“If only I could do it all over again,” Julian thought. “I’d listen to her.”

Then right as he hit rock bottom, Mazie did something new. 

The baby kitty walked over, hopped onto Julian’s lap and rolled over to expose her tummy. The new owner couldn’t believe it. 

“After Stacey left, things did not go well for a while,” he stammered. “And it was hard to see-“ 

Mazie started to purr loudly and moments later, Julian collapsed into tears. He cried for a full minute before he found his tongue.

“It’s just nice to win one,” he whispered to his kitty. 

The Escape Artist

Omar woke up extra early Friday morning and prepared to face the past.

He rolled out of bed, put on an expensive suit, and then spent an hour pacing around his high rise apartment, occasionally checking in with his wife for reassurance.

“You’re going to do fine,” she explained over and over again. “You’re a success story, remember?”

A little while later, a chauffeur arrived and drove the attorney an hour across town to his old high school. 

Omar spent the entire ride biting his nails and fidgeting in the back seat while he mentally recited lines. When he arrived, the car pulled around to the back to a loading dock where administration officials were waiting.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” the principal greeted him with a large smile. “You look great.”

The two posed for a photo, exchanged pleasantries, and reminisced about darker times.

“I used to skip class and come back here to smoke weed,” Omar explained. “No wonder I repeated freshman year twice.”

A few minutes later, Omar was led down a long hallway and into an auditorium full of kids who reminded him of himself. He was seated on stage while the principal made an announcement.

“Let’s give a big warrior welcome to Mr. Watson,” she said into a mic. “He recently made a sizable contribution to our school, which will allow us to upgrade our band hall, football field, and gymnasium.”

There were a few claps that died down after a few seconds. The principal then shook Omar’s hand, handed him a plaque, and turned the mic over. Omar took one big breath before telling his story.

“My life started in a desolate place,” he began. “My mom had me when she was fifteen, I never knew my dad, and I got kicked out of here in tenth grade when I squared up with a science teacher.”

The entire room erupted in laughter and for more than an hour, everybody listened to the dropout.

“Somehow they let me into the Marines,” he went on. “And it changed my life. I went to college and then law school and now I have a corner office. The work always came easy. Forgetting the trauma was the hard part.”

When he finished, the auditorium exploded into a deafening applause. Omar exhaled, got off stage, and offered words of encouragement to all who approached him.

“It sounds like you’re going to have to work twice as hard,” he explained to one girl. “But you’ll be better for it. Don’t ever forget that.”

Then near the end of the event, an angry kid sliced through the dissipating crowd and confronted him.

“You’re not one of them,” he seethed. “You may have that fancy suit and all them big words, but it’s not like they know what we come from.”

For a second, the boy who beat the odds was stunned. Then he remembered the most important thing of all. Omar’s brows furrowed and he leaned in to respond.

“You may be right about that, son,” he conceded. “But they don’t need to understand me. They just need to pay me.”

Rosie

A call from law enforcement woke Jodie up early Monday morning.

“I’m with the Coreyville PD,” he began. “Would you happen to know a woman named Roseanne Brown?”

Jodie dropped her shoulders, exhaled loudly, and tightened her grip around the phone.

“Yes officer,” she sighed. “Roseanne is my biological mother. We haven’t spoken in many years.”

She then closed her eyes and prepared to hear yet another embarrassing story about her mom.

“A few hours ago, some neighbors called in a wellness check,” the officer replied. “It seems like she passed away in her recliner sometime this weekend. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The daughter wasn’t sure what to make of the news. Her body relaxed and she remained silent long enough for the officer to fill the dead air.

“When I first got here, I peeked in through the window,” he went on. “There was a cat cleaning herself on your mother’s lap. Name tag says Sunflower.”

The last time Jodie spoke to her mother, she hated animals.

“We’re not getting no damn dog,” she once snapped at Jodie. “Anything with hair that sheds and shits in my house will not be allowed in.”

That’s when everything clicked for the estranged daughter. 

“I’m about five hours away, so I should be there this afternoon,” she told the officer. “Thank you kindly for the call.”

As soon as she hung up, Jodie called in sick, hopped on the interstate, and raced out to her mother’s outpost. She only stopped once on the way there.

“A case of wet food, a litter box, and our coziest cat carrier,” a cashier told her at the register. “What’s the lucky kitty’s name?”

“I think Sunflower,” Jodie replied. “But Rosie would be good too.”