I was in the corner of the break room, pouring myself a cup of coffee. It’d been a long day and I was hoping to make it go away with some caffeine. It was going to help that the Styrofoam cup was also half-full of whiskey. Then, I sensed a presence behind me. It was him.

“What do you want?” I asked, not turning around.

“Same as you — coffee,” he said.

“I’ll be done in a minute.” I picked up the sugar container and started to pour.

My hope was that he’d take the hint and back off, but instead he moved closer and stood next to me. His elbow was almost touching mine. I closed my eyes, trying to banish the anger building inside me. It wasn’t going too well.

“So,” he said, “have a good New Year?”

“Splendid so far.”

There was silence again. I could almost picture him trying to come up with something, anything to say that would bridge our uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable for him, at least. Me, I prefer the quiet.

“Make any New Year’s resolutions?” His smile was nervous, like that of a young boy poking a grizzly bear with a piece of dowel and knowing full-well what the end result was going to be.

I gritted my teeth. Enough was enough. I opened a drawer in the counter and reached my hand inside.

“Yeah, I did,” I replied. “But only one.”

“Oh, yeah? What is it?”

“I resolved not to kill anyone who asked me if I’d made any New Year’s resolutions.”

I wasn’t looking at him, but I could practically feel the confusion reeling off of him like skin from a far-gone leper.

“What the — ”

In one smooth motion I wheeled around and jabbed into his throat the butter knife I’d found in the drawer. He didn’t even get a scream out. All he could do was gurgle pathetically. Blood began to flow from his neck like a freshly opened dam. His eyes bulged out and then he fell to the floor, twitching.

I stared down at the newly-minted corpse I’d just created. “I guess I’ll have to try again next year.”

I turned back around and picked up my coffee. I brought the cup to my lips and cautiously sipped it.

“Aaah. Sweet and strong — just the way I like it.”

As promised, here is part of the story I wrote, “Perpetual Motion.” I don’t want to post the whole thing yet in a public forum (I’m gonna wait until short story publishers reject it a bunch for that), so bear in mind that this little excerpt takes place in the middle of the story. It is, however, a fairly integral section, as some important stuff is revealed…

Due to its length, I’m placing the story “behind the curtain,” so to speak. And with that, read on…

(more…)

I’ve started to rewrite a story I wrote at the beginning of this year, called “It’s a Wonderful Death.” I decided to completely start over from scratch because while I really liked some of the ideas from the old story, the quality of writing is pretty weak. Here’s an excerpt from the beginning of the new version.

The last ten minutes of my life were not very momentous or fulfilling — they were just ordinary.

My day had started out routinely enough, though I wouldn’t really call that a good thing. I’d woken up late and hurriedly dressed, and then began the thirty minute commute to my job. Even though I was in a hurry, I was also dangerously low on gas, so I’d stopped to fill up decided t pick up a cappuccino as well. I figured if I didn’t get some caffeine in my system, I wouldn’t live through the day. The irony of that statement is not lost on me.

The last ten minutes of my life began when my cell phone rang as I exited the gas station and made my way over to my car. I shifted the coffee into my left hand and fished in my pocket for my phone. I finally extracted it and then checked the caller ID, though I already had a good idea who it was. Yep, I was right. It was Ted, the other member of my team.

“Hello?” I said.

“Jesus, Alex, where are you?” Ted asked. He sounded as though he was teetering on the brink of panic. And he probably was.

I set the coffee on the roof of my car so I could open the door. “I woke up late. I should be there in about twenty minutes.” I picked up my coffee and got in the car. After setting the cup in a holder, I started the engine.

“You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” Ted said. “I thought we were gonna go over the material again before we present it to Mr. Davies?”

I pulled out into traffic and cradled the phone in the crook between my head and shoulder. I kept my coffee in one hand and had the other on the wheel. I wasn’t going to be like some assholes on the road and try to drive with my knee. I was a little smarter than that.

“Ted, seriously — don’t worry. I’ll be there with plenty of time to spare. Just make sure the material is ready.”

“Okay. But hurry.”

I held back an irritated sigh. “Believe me, I am,” I said, which was the truth. I was easily going ten over the speed limit, and though I was doing some weaving in and out of traffic, I made sure to use the turn signal for every lane change. Not using turn signals was another of my pet peeves. I was now behind a red sports car that was probably being driven by some middle-aged yuppie.

“See ya in a bit.” I hung up the phone then set it on the passenger seat. I rubbed the back of my neck. Christ, it wasn’t even eight yet and I was already feeling stressed. It was time for some music.

It was then I realized I hadn’t put my seatbelt on. I guess I’d been too distracted talking to Ted. Oh well. First thing was first — I needed some tunes. I’d put the seatbelt on at the next light.

Looking back, it wasn’t the brightest decision I’d ever made.

I bent forward to turn the CD player on. I selected a track, then looked back up —

To see that the car in front of me had come to a dead stop.

Heh. Dead stop. I crack myself up sometimes.

I didn’t even have time to hit the brakes. I slammed into the rear of the car in front of me at fifty miles per hour. Since I wasn’t strapped in, I was propelled by inertia through the windshield. The pain I felt as the glass shredded my face was excruciating, like someone was rubbing my face against a cheese grater.

The next few moments still aren’t very clear to me. All I remember was lying on my side on the ground, facing the red sports car I’d hit, and only semi-aware that I couldn’t feel a damned thing. People were shouting in the distance — or so it seemed to me — but I paid them no attention. I was staring at the car, which had vanity tags that read: “COOLEY 1.”

The last thing I thought was, Thanks, Cooley 1. Now I don’t have to worry about being late to work. Then I died.

And that’s when all the weirdness began.

It’s a little bit rough, but keep in mind I only gave it a cursory read-through before posting it. But anyway, whadja think?

JAB

I had my first short story class today. It will be, by far, the highlight of this quarter. We basically just do a lot of writing, and very little analyzing of “critically acclaimed” short stories. The teacher seems like a real cool guy, not some snobby “writer” who is demeaning himself by teaching. In fact, he gave us a little exercise to do in class. We had to write a half page or so about “two or more fruits, where one is either hitting on the other or they’re having sex.” All of us in the class sort of looked at each other, wondering what kind of weirdo this guy was. But we did the exercise and then read them out loud. Everyone laughed a lot at mine, but it was okay because my story was trying to be funny. Here it is:

Joe Banana and his girlfriend, Sherri Strawberry, were walking down the street, a hostile silence lingering between them. They’d just had an argument about whether or not fruit smoothies should be made illegal. Sherri thought that smoothies were like murder but Joe thought it should be each fruit’s individual choice.

Joe was still brooding when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw two gorgeous, ripe looking fruits — twins, incidentally — walking the opposite way. Without thinking he said something that he immediately regretted. “Wow, look at those melons!”

When he saw the evil look that Sherri gave him, Joe Banana groaned, then made like himself and split.

Considering I wrote this in five minutes, I don’t think it’s too bad. Okay, I have more writing to do.

JAB