One-Screen Stories

Teen Pressure

2011-10-02T10:31:00.002-07:00

by Marie Corcoran

Fitting in can be difficult, boys, girls, all trying to find themselves at a judgmental teen age. Not knowing if peers will accept them, not wanting to be a disappointment to family.

Walking down Deadman’s Hill, an appropriate street nickname, I was with two very popular girls in my high school. Two girls my parents weren’t sure were good role models in school.

At the bottom of the hill, down a dirt path, my friends brought out a pack of cigarettes. One friend lit up and then the other. I was the odd man out. Friends.

Silence, standing with them, I was nervous. Wanting to be popular, not knowing what to say. One girl turned to me, teasingly holding the pack. “Don’t you smoke? Everyone does it.”

I took a cigarette, held it and looked around, wondering if I should light it or leave. I didn’t want to smoke but I didn’t want to go back home alone. The cigarette felt smooth to the touch. One friend blew smoke in my face. Laughing, my supposed friends said I could go. “No,” I stated, “I’m fine.”

The cigarette tasted bitter as the flame licked the end. I breathed in and coughed, tears pricked the back of my eyes. Deadman’s Hill, an appropriate place I probably shouldn’t be.

Walking slowly going up my front steps, I turned to see those girls skipping away. Walking into the house, my parents happy to see me, my dad asked, “What’s that smell?”

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Marie Corcoran wrote this piece for a creative writing class she is taking at Asnuntuck Community College with Edwina Trentham. Having written for many years, she has a completed mystery manuscript and several children's manuscripts that she is looking to place with an agent. Marie love making up stories.

Easily Entertained

2011-08-20T10:28:00.000-07:00

by Sarah Badger

My dog chases her tail for 10 minutes straight and I watch and think, Wow, dogs are so easily entertained. Then I just realized that I watched my dog chase her tail for 10 minutes.

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The first decade of Sarah Badger's life, she was overbearingly inquisitive. The next two decades was a life led by all things philosophical. From here on out, the rest of her decades will be, alas, purely contemplative.

Fire

2011-01-07T19:02:00.000-08:00

by Elizabethe Plante

I am in dire need of a fire that will talk back to me with a series of cracks and an occasional pop, embrace me in its radiant cloak of warmth, let me look into the blaze, and inspire my imagination. Wait a minute--is this a fire I'm talking about?

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Elizabethe Plante calls herself an ordinary person who at age seven wanted nothing more than to be one of the three Supremes, to be a scientist, and to marry a firefighter. She has not yet managed to accomplish these three wishes.

True Blue

2010-12-28T17:10:00.000-08:00

by Christina Vernon

Their love was true. They had the kind of love you would read about in a romance novel or listen to in a steamy love song, the kind of love you envied and could only wish for. There they stood, hand in hand, gazing into each other's eyes as they recited the traditional vows: "I will love you, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health." No one could ever deny them. It was time, the final moment we had all waited for. The world would continue to turn. "Bailey and Jerry, I now pronounce you husband and husband."

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Christina Vernon is a full-time student at Asnuntuck Community College who enjoys writing about the wonders of everyday life. This story was written about two very special people whose love inspires her.

Homecoming

2010-12-24T08:23:00.001-08:00

by Jessica Handly

The young man had gone to war a boy. Although he had returned a man, the boy within him still thoroughly rejoiced in the fact that he would soon be reunited with it. The word it was simplistic, he knew, and he thought about it with a sort of half smile. But it described far more than my car.

His whole life had been this car; as a boy he had done any odd job in order to have it. He had squeezed oranges, cut leather for jackets. In Germany, sitting in the rain one evening, on guard duty in enemy territory, the young man’s thoughts had turned to his car, and these thoughts had warmed him throughout the night. Before he had gone away, when the draft notice had come, the young man had taken his car for one last drive. He had washed it and polished it; put it up on blocks so the tires wouldn’t rot.

And now he was within distance of home. Overcome, the young man clad in fatigues ran. He threw down his pack, opened the garage, and beheld … nothing. It was gone! Where this car, this symbol of American freedom and boyhood should have been, was an empty spot; the blocks stood barren. For a moment, the young man didn't believe his eyes. But then, he heard his mother calling. It was quite a homecoming.

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Jessica Handly teaches at Asnuntuck Community College and is the author of three published novels (under the name Jessica Barone). "Homecoming" is loosely based on something that happened to Jessica's grandfather when he came back from serving in World War II. Jessica can be found here: http://jessicabarone.tripod.com.

Two Stories

2010-12-17T03:02:00.000-08:00

by Ebby

The Pants

My father had the shortest legs of anyone I've ever known. One Halloween, as part of my costume, I wore a pair of his old trousers. Although taller than me, the pant legs flapped well above my ankles. I remember my mom, carefully measuring, cutting and hemming them after having searched the store for the pair with the shortest length. At one point, their width exceeded their length. As a child, it was comical to see them so wide yet so short as they hung out to dry. Those days are gone forever now. And I can't help but check the legs of my own children to see if they inherited grandpa's short-legged gene.

Chance Meeting

She saw him walking around when she slipped out the back door of her small restaurant for the night, looking at everything with great interest, but still keeping a low profile. He was dirty, like he’d been on the streets for a few days. At first, she was frightened, but she knew showing fear would be the worst thing she could do. She waited and observed his demeanor. Slow steps, jumping every now and then if he heard a sound that could be trouble. What would she do? He looked over at her. His expression wasn’t much more than curiosity. He wasn’t angry or concerned that she was snooping on him. He knocked the top off the trash can and down it went. He’s looking for food. That thought made her stomach jump a little. How could he live this way? Her heart went out to him, and she wondered if she should try to get him to go inside to get a bite with her. Visions of the news flashed across her mind. Woman found behind restaurant, mauled. Film at eleven. She had to. He looked too shaky and hungry to harm her. Slowly she walked over, making no sudden moves. Her voice was trembling as she started to speak, “It’s okay, boy, it’s okay. Wanna go have some food? Come on, I won’t hurt you.” He looked up and began wagging his tail. After a few minutes of sniffing, they walked to the door together, fast friends.

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Ebby is an assistant editor and web mistress for Boston Literary Magazine. Her chapbook, Sacred Onions, will be available from Big Table Publishing in the spring of 2011. She lives and writes in Maine while her dog snores beside her.

Gramma's Vitae: The Final Years

2010-12-16T13:02:00.001-08:00

by Michael Schulman

My grandmother lived to age 104.

At 70, while baking schnecken, she went to re-light the pilot in her gas oven and it backfired, singeing her eyebrows. She bought false ones.

At 80, she played 9 holes of golf every day, drove her friends to the movies (they talked about Kramer Versus Kramer for months) and baked schnecken.

At 90 she had a fall, and started a slow decline, but her overall health was still excellent. She learned to settle for store-bought schnecken.

At 95, she complained "I don't have any pep." Specialist after specialist dismissed her in frustration, finding nothing tangibly wrong with her. Even my brother-the-Doctor gave up on trying to help.

When I visited her in God's Waiting Room (Miami Beach), I asked, "Gramma, do you think it has something to do with the fact that you're NINETY-FIVE years old?" She turned away, smiling with the defiance of a child.

At 100, two "girls" moved in with her: home-health aids (with grown children of their own) who cared for her round the clock.

Four years later, one of the women made the frantic call to my mother: "She was sitting at the table, and I was feeding her soup, and she just closed her eyes and died."

My mother called her friends, and one she knew the longest asked, "What was in the soup?"

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Michael Schulman has his grandmother's recipe for schnecken, and will take it with him to his grave. Visit him at www.manforallseasonings.com.

Finish Line

2010-12-07T07:35:00.001-08:00

by John Sheirer

While running his first marathon at age fifty, Jake finally spotted the finish line ahead. But why was the finish line bathed in a tunnel of heavenly light? And was that Jake's grandmother floating there, waving and calling him to her?

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From your humble editor of One-Screen Stories. This little story is much exaggerated from my recent middle-aged running experiences. I wrote this while listening to other wonderful writers at a reading last night at Asnuntuck Community College.

Feedway

2010-12-06T21:44:00.000-08:00

by Barry Ergang

“What’re you thinking?” the resort owner demanded. “I ask for a first-class chef and you hire a race-car driver.”

“Retired race-car driver,” his president of operations said, “who’s studied at some of the world’s finest culinary institutes.”

The owner snorted. “Yeah--he’ll give the customers gas, right?”

“The customers’ll be revved. Racing’s popular all over the world. Drivers are superstars—including our boy. The novelty’s a great shift for us because we can advertise a five-star restaurant featuring a dual-celebrity chef.” He snapped his fingers. “We could rename the restaurant Grand Prix!”

“Which of you do I spin out of here first?”

“Neither. At least, not till you’ve lapped the fare. You don’t know heaven till you’ve tasted his Lamb Borghini.”

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Winner of the 2007 Derringer Award from the Short Mystery Fiction Society in the Flash Fiction category, Barry Ergang has had fiction, poetry and non-fiction appear in numerous publications, print and electronic.

Lunch with Relatives

2010-12-06T21:41:00.000-08:00

by Thomas Wiloch

"Great food," he said, "but I had to listen to the conversation."

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Thomas's latest collection is Screaming in Code from the Naked Snake Press.