Stories on the Go: 101 Very Short Stories by 101 Authors Read online

  I square my shoulders, take a deep breath and reach for the can opener.

  I’m asleep when I hear pounding at my door. It’s forced open by men with weapons. The afternoon sunshine streaming in half-blinds me and I push weakly to my feet, confused and disoriented.

  I am close to death now. I welcome it. I wish I could remember my daughter’s last moments, but my thoughts are hazy. I remember self-contempt and the smell of peas. It’s probably a mercy I’m spared the rest.

  One of the men speaks. “The Peace Corps and U.S. military have established a joint outpost here. We’ll provide food and shelter for you and your family.” He adds, “You’re safe now, ma’am.”

  I fly at him with fists and feet. He is young, as unprepared for my attack as I am, but he holds his ground nobly in the face of my onslaught. Screams and sobs tear painfully from my throat as I pound at his chest. My outburst lasts only a moment before my strength is gone and I sink to my knees.

  “You’re too late,” I choke out. “Oh Cassie, what have I done?”

  “I’m sorry for your pain, ma’am. We’re doing the best we can. If you’ll get a few things we’ll take you back to camp.”

  I stifle bitter laughter and turn my head away. I’m not going with them. I’ve already chosen my fate.

  As I turn, I see the open can of peas on the tray of my daughter’s high-chair, baby spoon sticking out from the empty can. My daughter, peas still smeared on her face, peers at me from behind the arm of the couch.

  My mind clears and I remember feeding her, unable to make the hard choice when it mattered. Complicated emotion washes over me. Cassie runs to my open arms and I hide my tears in her pale hair. I’m either the best mother alive or the worst.

  Ellisa Barr

  writes post-apocalyptic fiction for young adults and thinks there should be a law against canned peas. Connect with her at her website.

  Ellisa Barr’s Website

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  Paranormal — Romance

  Payback’s a Witch

  Marilyn Vix

  Payback’s a bitch… or a witch like me.

  I smiled as I angled the webcam on my MacBook to capture the view of my dorm bed. The feed would record and play right into my roommate’s phone and to every laptop device or phone on the college campus. With a tweaked spell, I’d wrapped technology with a portal spell to help set this little trap. Vivienne was about to see just what kind of snake Jake is. And the slut that stole my warlock would get what she deserved, the shock of her life. Any time a witch takes my warlock, I was going to get justice. Any self-respecting witch had to retaliate.

  The knocking on the door drew me away from the desk. I put on the smile that was sure to lure.

  As I opened the door, Jake strode in, confidence and swagger oozing from every pore. My ex-boyfriend was still hot, with a well-defined torso under his t-shirt. I was not faking the attraction to him. Damn. It hurt.

  “Hi Catherine.” His smile made my heart skip.

  My tongue tripped over itself. “Have a seat.” I directed him to my dorm bed. Then, I slid next to him.

  “Cat, I’m sorry about Viv. Really.” His dimple added to the chiseled contours of his face.

  This was going to be hard. But I had to get it just right. I licked my lips. I stroked his chin, drawing my hand down his neck, turning to the MacBook. “Jake, I know that it must have been a fling. I’ll forgive you if you promise me one thing.”

  He eased closer. “What is it?” He started to nuzzle my ear.

  Stand steady, girl. Remember, revenge is sweet. “Do you care only about me?”

  He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me closer. “You know I do. Vivienne doesn’t mean anything to me.” He drew his lips closer to mine. I could feel his breath as he spoke. “You’re all I care about.” He pulled me into a kiss, and the world stopped.

  I put my hand to his chest, masking my face with a look of innocence. “Are you sure, Jake?”

  “You’re the only one, baby.” I bet. I tried not to let out an annoyed snort. I could feel everyone was watching. If anyone else had been with him, they now knew he was lying. Most of all, I was hoping Viv was watching.

  We got lost together as he pulled me in. I leaned into him and we fell back on the bed. He wrapped himself over me, caressing my back underneath as he rolled on top. We continued our kiss until a brilliant flash stopped us.

  “Jake! You bastard!” Vivienne must have teleported. She was standing in our dorm room turning a livid color of red. “I thought I was your special vixen.”

  Jake sat up, staring into my eyes. His pout and look of shock was almost believable. “Viv, I can explain.”

  I yelled back at her, “He was mine first.” I tried not to smirk. “But now everyone knows how much of a bitch and asshole you both are.” I tried not to smile at the camera. This was too perfect.

  “I’m going to blast you so hard your balls will hang behind your ears,” Viv snarked, raising her hands in a beginning spell weave towards Jake.

  “Ladies, ladies, no need to blow me out the dorm.” Jake got up, raising his hands, trying to calm us. “You’re both powerful witches that will level this place. Let’s see if we can come to some…” He eyed us both. “Understanding.”

  I could feel power building within him. I felt the pulse go up his arms. I looked at him and said, “Typical Jake. No. I won’t blast you.” He’d take the opportunity to get us first if I wasn’t careful.

  “Oh, I had a little something else in mind.” His smile grew wide as he took me by the hand. “There are many ways to make up. Revenge can be sweet. But sometimes, you have to forgive and forget.” He kissed both our hands and then eyed us slowly. We can have a lot of fun together. I’d love to see you both—”

  “I bet you would.”

  Vivienne slapped Jake. You could hear the sound echo off the walls. “You prick. You’re not worth blasting through the wall.” She looked over at me.

  Tears edged her eyes. “Cat, I’m sorry. If I knew how he was going to be, I wouldn’t have.“ Here was a pause where she waited.

  My choice, the pause hung awkward. Would I be able to forgive her?

  Viv sniffed, nodding towards the door. “You want to get out of here? I think I could use a cup of coffee.”

  I took a deep breath. I’d had my revenge. I could see the hurt in Viv’s face. Revenge didn’t feel as sweet as I thought it would. I turned to the webcam, flipped my hand in a spell motion, and heard the beep of the computer shutting down.

  I turned my back on Jake. It took an asshole to realize friends are better than any warlock. “I’ll buy.”

  As we walked out the door, Viv added, “Warlocks come a dime a dozen.” She leaned in to grab my hand. “Friends are priceless.”

  I smiled back, realizing that the tension between us was melting. “Well, at least worth the $5.99 for a Café Latte.” Our laugher filled the hallway as we made our way down the stairs.

  Marilyn Vix

  is a debut Paranormal Romance novelist. Having had experience with another genre, Marilyn is trying her hand at her secret passion, romance writing. It is a grand experiment, armed with editor and laptop that will progress over the next few months. Dabbling in Time Travel and Paranormal Romances, Marilyn is going to see where her passion takes her. Hopefully the Top Bestsellers lists. For more information on Marilyn, visit her website.

  Marilyn Vix’s Website

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  Women’s Fiction — Action/Adventure

  Thursday at the Ritz-Carlton

  Jean Louise

  She was sitting at a table from which she could see the whole room. A personal quirk, perhaps, but she always liked to see what was happening around her, and be in line-of-sight of any exits, should she need one suddenly.

  This wasn’t a natural setting for her; she didn’t normally patronize elegant hotel lounges. She was only here to meet
a college friend who was in town on business.

  So, here she was, wearing her fanciest dress and her least comfortable shoes—how did women wear these things, anyway?—sitting in a softly-lit lounge waiting for someone she’d hardly talked to in two years.

  As she nursed her drink and resisted the urge to check the time yet again, the young woman’s gaze wandered among the patrons of the upscale hotel. Most were either business travelers or tourists with shopping bags. The low hum of conversation made the piped-in background music almost unidentifiable.

  Her attention fell on a man near the bar. At a glance, she could tell that his presence was neither casual nor accidental. He was here for a reason, and she had a suspicion about what that reason was.

  As she watched, the man at the bar started to move, and the young woman surreptitiously kept track of his progress across the room. He navigated the lounge in a path that may have looked random to anyone else, but was actually very deliberate. Watching him, she had a good idea what he was up to; she just didn’t know where it would go down.

  His path took him toward a table near the lounge entrance, where three people were seated: two women and a man. They looked like tourists, casual visitors rather than business travelers. The flicker from the table’s candle revealed that one woman wore a large diamond ring, and the other had just fished her lipstick out of one of those purses that cost as much as a month’s rent.

  Mystery Man had almost reached the door when he stumbled, apparently jostled as he made his way among the tables. Off balance, he reached for a nearby chair to steady himself. The woman in that chair, the one with the expensive purse, looked up in surprise, as did her tablemates, but the man put his hand out to reassure them and apologize, and continued on his way out of the lounge.

  The young woman frowned. Did that really just happen, right in front of her?

  Without thinking, she stood and made for the exit in the man’s wake. She saw him ahead, sauntering through the lobby as if he belonged there. But she knew better. His ‘casual stroll’ was a lie, and unless she was greatly mistaken, he would soon make his way to the revolving door that opened onto the street.

  She had to catch him now, before he left the hotel.

  Leaving the lounge, he’d initially headed left, toward the main desk. Instead, however, he stopped in front of an advertising display touting the hotel’s four-star restaurant. Then, with casual nonchalance, he turned away and moved in the opposite direction, so that it appeared as if he’d come from the lobby elevators.

  As she’d suspected, he was heading toward the exit—and the street.

  Pulling out her cellphone, the young woman held it up as if reading the display, and thus not paying attention to her surroundings.

  But peripheral vision was a wonderful thing.

  Bam! They collided next to a small cherry pedestal table in the middle of the lobby. She gasped and clutched at his sleeve for balance, even as his hand shot out instinctively to stabilize the small bowl of mints on the table.

  “I’m so sorry!” she said. “I wasn’t looking. This’ll teach me to text and walk at the same time.”

  Glaring at her, the man straightened up and tugged the sleeves of his suit jacket into place. “Next time, watch where you’re going!” He patted his pockets and then, a bit more calmly, smoothed his tie.

  “I will. I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  Still scowling, he stepped around her and walked away. She watched as he pushed through the revolving doors and went out into the street.

  Turning, she headed back into the lounge, toward the table the man had jostled a moment ago.

  “Excuse me,” she said, bending next to the woman’s chair. “Did this fall out of your purse?” Rising, she laid an expensive leather wallet on the table. “It was under your chair.”

  The tourist picked up the billfold in surprise, opening it to look inside. “Yes, that’s mine. Maybe when that man bumped into my chair it fell out. Everything seems all right with it.”

  The young woman smiled. “Good. You may want to keep your purse visible, or on the table, rather than hang it on the back of your chair. Safer that way.”

  She returned to her seat and followed her own advice, putting her purse on the table next to her, in the empty spot where the table card featuring the drink specials should be. She smiled. That table card, folded into the approximate size and shape of a woman’s wallet, was by now far down the street, nestled into the suit pocket of an unsuspecting mystery man.

  A moment later the girl rose and greeted her college friend. “Hi! It’s so good to see you!”

  The two girls hugged, and the newcomer replied, “You too, Angie. You look great! Whatever you’ve been up to, it certainly agrees with you.”

  The young woman smiled. “Thanks, I have been enjoying myself.” Especially these last fifteen minutes, she added silently.

  Good thing nobody knows the truth about me or what I do, she thought; they’d think I need a twelve-step program. Hell, maybe I do.

  She tried to imagine standing up in front of the crowd, and saying the words out loud: My name is Angelina Carr…

  …and I’m a thief.

  Jean Louise

  Now that you’ve met Angelina Carr, be sure to read a couple of her ‘extra-legal’ activities. It Takes a Thief tells the story of her adventures in foiling a predatory debt-payment operation. And in Shiny, Sparkly Things, Gina and her partner investigate — and take down — a jewel thief and con man. If you prefer to read about law enforcement, perhaps the Boys in Blue series is for you—the day-to-day life of ordinary patrol cops.

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  Women’s Fiction — Romance

  The Man Across the Room

  Sheryl Fawcett

  The noise level was rising as everyone talked at once. Laughter rang out from all corners of the room and the music had grown much louder. Here and there someone tooted a paper horn in early preparation for the big moment. I watched a loose streamer floating down from the ceiling.

  That was when I saw him at the bar, looking directly at me. Did he just wink? Heat rose in my cheeks. I forgot the others at the table.

  Now he was walking toward me. He was tall, over six feet. His dark suit accented his broad shoulders and narrow hips, a still athletic frame. He carried himself with an air of confidence that would turn any woman’s head. His hair was dark, tinged with silver at the temples. His blue eyes were riveting as they linked with mine. Something fluttered in my chest.

  Then he was right there in front of me. Without a word spoken by either of us, I rose from my chair. He smiled, the kind of smile that makes you smile back no matter how reserved you attempt to appear. I studied his beautiful face, his perfect white teeth, the small crinkles accenting the corners of his eyes. In his mid-fifties, he exuded the strength of youth and the wisdom of maturity. My soul melted and warmth engulfed me.

  He held two champagne glasses in his big hands. He handed one to me and lifted the other in invitation to a silent toast. We clinked glasses and each took a sip. The rising bubbles tickled my nose. Another sip and he placed both our glasses on the table, side by side. He extended his hand and I slid mine into his without hesitation. He led me onto the dance floor where he pulled me into a close embrace. We moved as one to the rumba music, the rhythm of the drums mingling with my heartbeat.

  The clock ticked closer to midnight. The dance floor grew crowded as the band stopped playing and the leader’s voice boomed into the mic. “Is everyone ready?”

  The crowd cheered. Our eyes remained locked. Neither of us had yet spoken a word.

  The countdown began. “Ten! Nine! Eight!” Our fingers intertwined with our palms pressed together, and a jolt of electricity flowed through me.

  “Seven! Six! Five!” Should a grown woman feel this way?

  “Four! Three! Two!” His smile broadened. We stood face to face with only inches between
us.

  “One!” An expectant pause. “Hap-py New Year!” The crowd roared.

  He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. I returned the kiss with the passion of a teenager. We were lost to everyone but each other.

  At last he spoke. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

  “Do you have any idea how much I love you?” I whispered into his ear through the cacophony of the celebration.

  The swells of Auld Lang Syne filled the room. The crowd sang along, the singing interspersed with shouts of Happy New Year. We kissed again and remained in tight embrace, oblivious to everyone else in the room, unaware of the circle of friends surrounding us or the bright flash from someone’s camera. A hand reached out and tapped his shoulder.

  “Hey, Buddy, get a room. Anyone would think you two were newlyweds instead of celebrating your silver wedding anniversary.” They all laughed. We separated. I blushed. Our friends all clapped and wished us Happy Anniversary in unison.

  Someone beyond our group chimed in, “Happy Anniversary!”

  “Happy Anniversary,” one stranger after another echoed.

  Auld Lang Syne concluded, and the band rolled right into The Anniversary Waltz. The crowd parted and we waltzed across the floor.

  I was so glad I had married this man.

  Sheryl Fawcett

  grew up in Iowa with one older sister. After attending Grinnell College, she married her high school sweetheart. Today they live in Omaha Nebraska. Together they raised two daughters, welcomed sons-in-law into the family, and were blessed by four granddaughters. Her career path has ranged from owning and operating a dance school to selling residential real estate, with the intervening years busy with volunteer work. She is a true believer in "60" being the new "40" and has been heard saying her goal is to die young at a very advanced age. Her writing ranges from short stories to full-length novels, in all eBook formats and in paperback. She writes mainly Contemporary Women’s Fiction, of little wonder in a family where females outnumber the males. Her series, The Women of Lakeshore Drive, has special appeal to the baby boomer generation.