Short Stories – Page 3 – Postcards From Myself

Postcard #18: Singing the Blues in New Orleans

I stop the car at the edge of a small town. From the corner, I can hear the trumpet blare, the owner taking deliberately slow breaths to elongate the sound, speaking mournfully. The saxophone accompanies it, lifting its spirits up with a lighthearted joy. I nod my head, bouncing along to the sultry rhythm sweepingContinue reading “Postcard #18: Singing the Blues in New Orleans”

Postcard #17: Highway to Maine

It is quiet. The air is still except from our soft breathes gently rippling the calm pond. Our voices are strained and weary, yet full of stories battering hard at the walls, desperately trying to dislodge the stone. I drive. Gradually, the mountains slip away, shrinking into the background until the tallest point is onlyContinue reading “Postcard #17: Highway to Maine”

Blank Postcard #6

Through the icy window I watch them slink out of the hotel, their hands shoved deeply inside their jean pocket. I should go after them, but I can’t. My feet are rooted in obstinacy. Where are they going? It doesn’t matter. Will they be okay? I do not care. The energy is zapped, stolen, andContinue reading “Blank Postcard #6”

Postcard #13: Colorado Mountains

I don’t know when I had fallen asleep, or for that matter fallen into a cryogenic freezer which has taken me to a point in the future, because when I wake up I’m surrounded by walls of ice and rock. ” What did you do?” I roar at the driver. They jump, startled by myContinue reading “Postcard #13: Colorado Mountains”

Blank Postcard #4

Darth Vader hiccups once, just once, but it is enough to startle them. They turn to their old companion, who sleeps soundly next to them, and silently begs them to wake up. What were they supposed to do? They had no money, and they’ve never been this far before. The farmlands gave way to theContinue reading “Blank Postcard #4”

Blank Postcard #3

A siren rings out in the night, and the police car rushes off, chasing madly after a perpetrator. I wonder briefly if it is a perpetrator at all, or someone the officer needs to catch, a manifestation of a latent hatred planted by an inexplicable evil. I take the pen from their hand and useContinue reading “Blank Postcard #3”