LitBit #6: Thursday in Tacoma

The challenge: to write a story in less than 500 words.

The rules: It must be less than 500 words, it must be complete and it must be clean.

Why not write your own LitBit? Email info@alderway.com with your story.

Today’s LitBit comes from Jesse Butcher. 495 words. Enjoy!

THURSDAY IN TACOMA

I haven't tasted freedom in nearly three years. This house on Chinook Avenue sags beneath the weight of a half-century of rain-soaked Tacoma winters and I sit, endlessly counting the bars separating me from liberty.

As always, Thursday night marks his arrival. Although she conceals my cell, I sometimes catch a glimpse of his entrance. He is worn, too many miles driven on an endless highway, too many dreams buried beneath a numbing diesel-roar.

Hours pass and I hear his cries, not hers. Later he flashes past my portal; always leaving with more certainty than he exhibited when he arrived. Could it be she cares more for me than this Thursday-night visitor? God, what agony! Sometimes I think I might love my captor … but most times I simply hate myself.

*

This rainy place is the last leg; Houston to Fresno with Chiquitas, Fresno to Tacoma with oranges, Tacoma to Philly with apples. I start all over in Philly; my Houston-outbound is margarine in little plastic tubs. I make money on this run and spend most Sundays at home.  And then there's Tacoma.

She never sees anyone else on Thursday night, setting this special time aside for us to savor. She knows we have something special but she never acknowledges it. I suppose she's been hurt too many times before.

'I'll always love you, Ada,' I whisper to her as her head rests on my shoulder. I think she hasn't heard me and decide the moment has passed when she suddenly looms above me. 

'You don't love me,' she says, her face close to mine. I can smell her last stale cigarette. Her silhouette is zebra-striped, slashed white then black by the street light streaming through the window blinds.

I'm always sad when I leave Tacoma but the regret fades as I get closer to Philly. After sixteen-years and two kids, I suppose my wife knows I'm no damn good. Sometimes I think I might really love Ada … but most times I simply hate myself.

*

I suppose I should get rid of that bird.  He long ago stopped singing, or screeching, or whatever it is that birds do.  Anyway, I cover his cage when I have a visitor. I know it seems crazy but somehow I feel he's watching me, judging me.

Thanks to Roy from Philly, Thursdays are a breeze. He drops a trailer-load of oranges at the pulp plant and arrives at my place before dark. Roy's big and dumb but he is a Godsend. Every day but Thursday I have to work the Great Western truck stop just to make enough to buy a rock. These days a smoke is all I have, except for Roy … and that damn bird. 

Each time he visits, Roy tells me he loves me. I know that's crap but I suppose I like hearing it. Sometimes when I'm alone, I think I might love Roy, too … but most times I simply hate myself.

Jesse Butcher

Jesse Butcher is the author of the Mike Bishop thriller Muleshoe and the short story anthology, Final Thoughts. Visit Jesse Butcher's Amazon author’s page here and Facebook author’s page here.

LitBit #5: Clueless in Seattle

The challenge: to write a story in less than 500 words.

The rules: It must be less than 500 words, it must be complete and it must be clean.

Why not write your own LitBit? Email info@alderway.com with your story.

Today’s LitBit comes from Lisa Hall Deckert. 492 words. Enjoy!

CLUELESS IN SEATTLE

‘OMG!’ Kara squealed, staring at her i-phone. ‘Nali, do you think that Don might have been cheating on me when we were in Seattle last month?’

Denali sighed. ‘I don’t think Don would invite you along with his family to their annual family reunion if he planned to cheat on you, Kara.’

‘Yeah well, look at this picture,’ Kara said, handing Denali the cell phone.

The picture was of a couple with their arms around each other, posed with the Space Needle in the background.  It was kind of hard to see their faces because the sun was behind them, long shadows reaching toward the camera.  Still, the tall, broad-shouldered guy was clearly Don, and the almost as tall chick with the long blond hair was just as clearly not Kara.  Kara was short, with wavy golden brown hair and cocker spaniel eyes. 

‘I can’t believe he would do this to me,’ Kara wailed.  ‘Sometimes he flirts a little with other girls, but I’ve never know him to be sneaky about it.  We were together the whole time we were in Seattle, except for once when Don’s mother and aunt and a couple of cousins and I went out for a girly lunch downtown.  But we were only gone from about eleven-thirty to two or so.  Other than that, Don and I were together at the reunion or the ball game or something the whole time. 

‘Do you think he was just waiting for me to leave so he could sneak over and see this girl?’ Kara continued. ‘If she is an old friend or something, I don’t really mind if he met up with her, but his not mentioning anything about it looks suspicious, don’t you think? I wonder who she is.’

‘Slow down, Kara,’ Denali said. ‘Who sent you this picture?’

‘It’s from Don’s cousin, Tina,’ Kara answered.  ‘Actually, I’m surprised that she would send this to me because I got the feeling that she didn’t really like me, but still. I wonder how she got the picture, though, since she was at the lunch with us. I guess whoever took the picture might have sent it to her. Anyway, the point is that Don sneaked off to see some other girl while I was at lunch and he didn’t tell me about it.’

‘Kara, relax,’ Denali said.  ‘Just ask Don about it. This picture wasn’t taken at lunchtime.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kara asked, looking at the picture again.

‘This picture clearly wasn’t taken between eleven and two.  Look at the shadows, Kara. The sun was low in the sky. It must have been taken in the evening.’

‘Ooo, you’re right,’ Kara said.  ‘I’ll forward it to Don and ask him.’

A few minutes later, Kara’s phone beeped.  She looked at the message and smiled. ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘It’s a picture of him and another cousin from last year’s reunion. Stupid Tina. Thanks, Denali, see you later.’

Lisa Hall Deckert

Lisa Hall Deckert is the author of two Denali mysteries, both available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes and Smashwords.

They Called It Moosicide can be purchased here for Amazon Kindle in the UK and here for Amazon Kindle in the US.

Denali’s Dozen: Twelve Little Mysteries You Can Solve can be purchased here for Amazon Kindle in the UK and here for Amazon Kindle in the US.

LitBit #4: Lighting the Fuse

The challenge: to write a story in less than 500 words.

The rules: It must be less than 500 words, it must be complete and it must be clean.

Why not write your own LitBit? Email info@alderway.com with your story.

Today’s LitBit comes from Vincent Moth. 499 words. Enjoy!

LIGHTING THE FUSE

‘Jimmy?’

Chris paused, listening for response. 

‘Jim?’ louder now, he got up and started searching. He couldn’t find him and was getting annoyed. 

‘JIMMY? I NEED MY LIGHTER!’

‘Alright, alright!’ he heard Jimmy respond from somewhere upstairs. ‘Give me a second. I’m just cleaning off the last bit of grout!’ he said defensively.

‘Just pass it here,’ Chris snapped impatiently, heading to the bathroom where Chris was balancing on the edge of the bath, reaching to the top row of tiles. ‘I’m off home. I’ve got nothing left to do. The kitchen’s finished and I can’t do any more in the living room till the carpets go down. I’ve had enough anyway.’

Jimmy somehow managed to steady himself with his grouting hand and reach into his till-then clean pocket to retrieve the lighter.

‘Look, Chris, don’t take this the wrong way but you’ve left early every day this week. You weren’t even here last week. Shall I just do the whole thing myself?’ Jimmy’s easy-going demeanour was stiffening just slightly. ‘I’m only getting half the money. Don’t you think you’re pushing it here, mate?’

He climbed down from his precarious perch and stood facing Chris. This could go any number of ways now. Jimmy knew he was taking a risk. He knew Chris could be unpredictable.

Chris, head down, looking at his fidgeting hands occupied with the paraphernalia of tobacco, glanced up and met Jimmy’s enquiring gaze. He gave nothing away. Suddenly he turned and started to walk away.

‘Where are you going?’ Jimmy put the grouting blade and sponge down and rounded the corner to see Chris heading downstairs. ‘Don’t just walk away, mate. Where are you going?’ He was starting to lose his cool quite severely now. ‘CHRIS!’ he hollered as loudly as he could, ‘Don’t just walk off when I’m speaking to you. What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Jimmy was shouting now.

Without slowing, Chris spoke quickly, ‘Just leave it. You’ve said enough. I’ll talk to you later.’ He was trying to make his exit but Jimmy was gaining on him now. He got to the front door, hit the handle hard and pulled violently in one motion. He was desperate to get away. Inside, his mind was reeling. He’d felt safe and comfortable with Jim. His heart was pounding as he stepped onto the front path, but he was not fast enough.

Jimmy reached him and gripped hold of his left upper arm and pulled him to a stop. But Chris would not be held. He was scrambling to free himself, and swung his free arm down as hard as he could onto Jim’s grip, smashing away his captor. He tried to run now, but Jimmy was still close.

This time he reached out with both hands and tackled Chris to the ground, both of them hitting the concrete path hard and awkwardly. Chris’ head took the first impact and bore almost all the weight of both men.

Suddenly, all was dark ...

Vincent Moth

Read Vincent Moth’s blog here. 

LitBit #3: Sore Throat, Sour Throat

The challenge: to write a story in less than 500 words.

The rules: It must be less than 500 words, it must be complete and it must be clean.

Why not write your own LitBit? Email info@alderway.com with your story.

Today’s LitBit comes from Donovan Sotam. 469 words. Enjoy!

SORE THROAT, SOUR THROAT

After a long sleepless night, Alice decided to go to the faculty infirmary, where she met Mrs Penelope. Mrs Penelope was the senior nurse there for two main reasons, the first being she was the only nurse there, thus giving her the senior position, and the second being she was old. She was already old when she amputated war wounded soldiers during World War I. Alice felt reluctant entering and asked if there was anyone else there. Mrs Penelope took the cigarette out of her mouth and said, ‘No dear, just me. What ails you?’

‘Tonsils I guess, but I’m no doctor,’ Alice said with a timid laugh, to break the ice.

‘Neither am I, doll,’ the nurse said in a grave and injurious tone.

Alice stopped smiling. She felt like leaving, but Mrs Penelope grabbed her and was already looking down her throat.

‘Yes, tonsils. I’ll just get my penicillin. Do you prefer standing or lying on the gurney?’

‘I’ll guess I’ll stand.’

‘Good, lift your skirt and bend over, then. I’ll be right back.’

Alice wasn’t aware that the injection would be on her behind. Otherwise, instead of just being there with her panties showing off, she would have said lying on the stretcher, but this small humiliating thought was soon substituted by another one, a more grimacing one.

‘Are you allergic dear?’

‘To penicillin? Dunno.’ She was starting to mentally panic.

‘Well, better bring the oxygen mask, then …’

‘Oxygen mask?’

‘Yes, if you’re allergic to- ’

‘Will that help me anyway?’ Alice didn’t even allow Mrs Penelope to finish.

‘Don’t be silly, doll. That’s not for you, it’s for me. I start to hyperventilate when people die on me.’

‘Isn’t oxygen bad for hyperventi – Wait! People die on you?’ Alice almost screamed, but instead, she let loose a small ‘Ouch’ from the injection.

‘You gave it to me?’

‘Yes’

‘And what if I’m allergic?’

‘Let’s just hope for the best, dear.’

Mrs Penelope puffed out a cloud of smoke from her cigarette.

‘Should you be smoking near to the oxygen bottle?’ Alice asked.

‘Probably not, but who’s watching? Well, there you go,’ she said, looking at the wall clock. ‘I guess you’re not allergic, after all.’

Alice was relieved. She had come in with a sore throat and she didn’t want to leave as a corpse.

‘And dear …’

‘Yes?’

‘You have really nice buttocks and panties, but you can put your skirt down now.’

She was so embarrassed she pulled her skirt down so fast it almost came off. A very reddish Alice said thank you and left.

Mrs Penelope sat down, lighting another cigarette and inhaling some of the oxygen from the mask and said in a low voice to herself, ‘Girls these days, always afraid they might die …’

Donovan Sotam

Donovan Sotam’s collection of short stories, Working for Heat, can be purchased here for Amazon Kindle.

Follow Donovan Sotam on facebook here.

LitBit #2: To The Last

The challenge: to write a story in less than 500 words.

The rules: It must be less than 500 words, it must be complete and it must be clean.

Why not write your own LitBit? Email info@alderway.com with your story.

Today’s LitBit comes from Nigel K. Hammond. 498 words. Enjoy!

TO THE LAST

I struggle to open my eyes, it take several seconds to open them and a few more to focus on anything. Try as I might, I just can’t see as clearly as usual.

‘Maybe, if I just sit up.’

The words rattle around my head as I think them, followed by a sharp pain somewhere deep inside my skull. As I lift my head I start to feel woozy, the room spins and I am, again, defeated. My body is fighting my commands.

‘Something is wrong!’ again, a reverberation in my mind.

I try once more, this time with some success. I make out a clock above a door frame; I’ve not seen it before. The light is bright and is making it difficult to see much of the room in which I lay but, as I scan it, things become clearer.

‘A hospital room, I’m in a hospital room. Why? How did I get here?’

Thinking no longer hurts or takes much effort, although the awkward way in which I have put most of my weight on to my right elbow is causing fatigue so I ease myself back down on to the pillow.

The door edges open and a face peers at me, then disappears. I hear a shout but I do not understand the words. I move back on to my elbow trying to shift my weight so that I might sit up properly but this simple act seems beyond my ability. The door swings open, two, no, three people rush in. I lose my balance and my top-heaviness starts to take me over the side of the bed. Another unintelligible shout, this time, I assume, directed at me as one of the three rushes over to stop me falling. They place me carefully back on to the bed and start to talk. There is a man; I think he must be the doctor, and two women, one a nurse and the other … the other? I feel I should know her but …

I try again to sit but I’m met with more forceful words. I recognise some of them this time but my mind seems fractured. The nurse pushes me back down on to the bed and holds me there. My heart starts to race, I wrestle for breath as panic sets in. She keeps talking but I can barely understand a word as we struggle. A mask is put over my face, at first it makes the panic worsen but quickly helps me to catch my breath.

I’m so tired now.

The second woman is sat by me, she takes my hand and her gentle voice begins to calm me. I don’t know what she is saying but I feel the warmth of her tone wash over me.

I’m so tired.

Her face has sadness and desperation yet beams with love.

Then ... I know!

I muster all the strength I can.

“Jennifer, I ...”

A darkness falls over me, I hear weeping and then.

Nigel K. Hammond

Follow Nigel K Hammond on Twitter (@mrsmokestoomuch)

Read Nigel K Hammond's blog here.

LitBit #1: The Overcomer

The challenge: to write a story in less than 500 words.

The rules: It must be less than 500 words, it must be complete and it must be clean. 

Why not write your own LitBit? Email info@alderway.com with your story.

Our first LitBit comes from Alderway author M.P.Hedley. 497 words. Enjoy!

THE OVERCOMER

Tick, tock, and the baying of hounds will creep and dismay. Yes, I’ve heard it all before and no, I didn’t believe it either. Until tonight. I know what you’re thinking - it’s only a fairytale, told to scare children into obedience and the safety of their beds: the spectral dog that scours the city at night, desperate to quench its thirst for troubled souls, drawn to the scent of a child’s tantrum.

Yesterday I would have agreed with you.  I’d have been the first to shout down such nonsense. But now ... now I know.  

I heard it, you see. Outside my window, just like my mum always said I would hear it if I ever made trouble at night. A wailing in the distance, getting nearer until I could swear I heard its breath against the glass.

I hid in the darkness, huddled under my blankets, but how do you hide from something that only sees anger and fear, only hears despair and torment? But what else could I do? I did what the story always says you must do. I lay perfectly still and closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I forced my happiest memory into my mind - the day I finally succeeded in climbing the rope at school all the way to the top (I know, it’s stupid, but there you have it) - and I did my very best to overcome the evil outside with the good within me. But it was not enough. I could hear the danger rattling at the window. The hound was threatening to enter.

If I was to defeat this peril I needed something more. It was a terrible battle of souls but failure was not an option. Everything was on the line and I knew it. And that’s when it happened. I can’t explain it, but as I laid there, my eyes scrunched tight, paralysed beneath the blankets, everything changed. And I knew ... the story was only half right. Yes, I must rely on the goodness within me, but I must also step forward to exercise this goodness. I knew what I had to do. I opened my eyes and sat up. It felt like madness to do it but I was determined. I threw the blankets aside and climbed out of the bed. I walked to the window. I won’t lie - doubt gripped me as I grasped the curtain, but I wasn’t turning back now. I threw back the curtain and I saw ...

Nothing.

There was nothing, except a tree scraping against the window pane; nothing, except the silence; nothing, except the blackness of night. And then for the final flourish of victory I reached for the light and flicked the switch. Now even the darkness was banished, along with my foe.

I never saw the hound but I know it was there. And now I know something else: with goodness and boldness and light, I am the more powerful.

M. P. Hedley

M. P. Hedley's debut novel The Lost Story: The Scroll of Remembrance is published by Alderway and can be purchased here for Amazon Kindle in the UK, and here for Amazon in the US. 

Follow M. P. Hedley on Twitter (@freddyhedley)

Read M. P. Hedley's blog here.

Join in with Alderway!

Welcome to the brand new Alderway Publishing blog. This is going on-line in advance of the Alderway website, which should be up and running very soon at www.alderway.com. So, by way of introduction, let me tell you one brief thing about Alderway and one brief thing about this blog.

Alderway

Alderway Publishing is a new UK-based independent publishing company, focused on the release of e-books. Currently we have published one title - the excellent The Lost Story: The Scroll of Remembrance by M P Hedley, a young adult fantasy adventure novel (available for sale on Amazon here) - but we are planning future releases by this and other authors in the coming months.

This Blog

As the output of Alderway and its authors grows, we will update this blog with occasional news and features, but the main purpose of this blog is to give a voice to writers. Specifically, we are excited to invite writers to take part in writing LitBits. LitBits are stories told in less than 500 words, and the rules are simple: the story must be no more than 500 words, it must be a complete story and must be clean. Other than that, it's up to your imagination! We will consider all genres, including poetry, except erotica.

We cannot guarantee to post every story that we are submitted, and there may be a delay before we post a story, as we work through the number of submissions and also try and give each new LitBit a short time as the newest blog post. But we will try and post as many as we can, and we look forward to reading what you send! To submit, email us at info@alderway.com and include your LitBit, a few details about you and any information you would like to link to (where your books can be bought, your twitter feed, etc).