Evergreen – A Free Short Story by Dr Paul Bennett

We’ve been writing stories pretty much non-stop since March. First it was the Covid Chronicles, then it was Free Fiction Wednesday. We’re going to take a bit of a break and come back at ya at the end of October with some stories about Halloween.

The last Free Fiction Wednesday story (for now) is from Dr Paul Bennet. It’s called Evergreen and it’s a great bookend to this series. Check out the trees below to read his story.

Thanks for taking the time to read this story. Join us again next week for a new release from the Free Fiction Wednesday Club, where one of our award-winning authors will sneak into your brain and extract the things that move you, scare you, excite you, and make you feel love and other emotions (my favorite emotion: hunger).

While you wait, please check out some of the other authors in our tribe. Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett. Most of us have some sort of books and other things for sale. We’d appreciate your support if you’re willing.

Glory of the Outcast – A Free Short Story by Rob Cely

Rob is the King of Metaphors. I ain’t lyin’, neither. Check out his resume sometime. He’s got “King of Metaphors” right there on the first page, just underneath “World Class Author” and right after “WalMart Greeter,” because everyone successful in life has been a WalMart Greeter at one point or another, right?

Right?

This week, Rob Brings us the Free Fiction with a short story about what it means to be free on a society that doesn’t want you to be. And also: living in the woods and wearing flannel (I think). Check out “Glory of the Outcast” by clicking on the woodsy image below.

Thanks for taking the time to read this story. Join us again next week for a new release from the Free Fiction Wednesday Club, where one of our award-winning authors will sneak into your brain and extract the things that move you, scare you, excite you, and make you feel love and other emotions (my favorite emotion: hunger).

While you wait, please check out some of the other authors in our tribe. Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett. Most of us have some sort of books and other things for sale. We’d appreciate your support if you’re willing.

This Island Purpose – A Free Short Story by Derek Elkins

Derek always takes an interesting approach to things. Sometimes, it’s a weinermobile, other times its a serial killing orderly. Today, however, Derek looks at the search for meaning. While lost on an Island. In the middle of the ocean. It’s a great read with a great message. Check out “This Island Purchase” by clicking on the Lost image below.

Thanks for taking the time to read this story. Join us again next week for a new release from the Free Fiction Wednesday Club, where one of our award-winning authors will sneak into your brain and extract the things that move you, scare you, excite you, and make you feel love and other emotions (my favorite emotion: hunger).

While you wait, please check out some of the other authors in our tribe. Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett. Most of us have some sort of books and other things for sale. We’d appreciate your support if you’re willing.

The Crickets Sing

Hey folks. It’s Free Flash Fiction Wednesday yet again, and this week its: YOURS TRULY! If you fell out of the rotation when the Covid Chronicles stopped, we’re glad you’re back. We’ve slowed down a bit, with the still-somewhat-quarantined-and-still-just-as-crazy authors doing one story per week. If you missed the first three, please check out Joe Courtemanche’s story, Mulroney’s Mariachis, from July 8; Jamie Greening’s, Jack and Robin Go Swimming, from July 15; and Kathy Kexel’s , The Guardians, from July 23.

No money expected. It’s all free for you and always will be. If you are so inclined, please visit our various websites to see what merch we DO have for sale. Regardless, we hope you enjoy our stories, and we hope to see you back next week. Until then, here’s …

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The Crickets Sing

A baby blue, 1974 Ford pickup truck drives past the parking lot at James Teague High school in Greenwoods, Ohio, blocks around once, then parks in the lot facing the ball fields and the disused tennis courts.  The Mill Creek flows just beyond the fields. Seven thirty on a late spring evening. Sunset in Southwestern Ohio. The crickets sing to the oncoming night with a red sun swelling just above the horizon, casting an amber hue on the present and long shadows into the steadily accumulating past.  

And old man lights a cigarette, reaches his wrinkled hand behind the steering wheel, and turns the truck off. He sits back and sighs.

A young, thin man with dirty blond hair and a large bruise on his forehead slumps in the seat next to him.

“Come on, now,” the old man says. “Time to get up. There’s work to do.”

The truck’s passenger stirs, unsure of his surroundings. His eyes register the dashboard, the windshield, and the fading yellow-orange dot of the sun beyond, then turns to see the old man in the driver’s seat, pointing a gun at him.

His eyes flash open. He struggles, but the too-tightened seat belt holds him back. Several passes of thick rope bind his hands to his legs in tight knots. Hogtied is what some in the rural parts of Southerwestern Ohio might have called it, but the passenger isn’t concerned about the taxonomy of binding techniques at the moment. It’s hard to be when you have a gun in your face. Anyway, his Boy Scout days have long since passed.

“Mmmm Mrrrmmmph!” the passenger mumbles, his mouth filled with gauze and covered in duct tape.  He coughs as the cigarette smoke fills the truck’s cabin.

“Don’t worry, son,” the old man says in a slow methodical cadence. “I’ll take off that tape off so we can speak, but I need to know you won’t scream.”

“You see, when people scream, I get nervous. And when I get nervous, my friend here,” the old man motions with the gun. “He gets scared. And when my friend gets scared, bad things happen.”

The passenger sits back, stops protesting. He is the perfect picture of calm; all except his eyes.

“Good,” The old man says. He takes off the tape, and they stare at each other in silence, their faces burnt orange from the sunset.

“You already know why you’re here,” the old man says. “I just need to hear you say it.”

The passenger stammers, frightened. “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I … I … I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”

“This was no mistake. “

 “I don’t even know you who are! If you want money, I’ll give it to you. Whatever you want, it’s yours! Just LET. ME. GO!”

“Shh Shh Shh Shh.” The old man presses the gun against the passenger’s temple. The young man calms down again.

Through the trucks windshield, we can see kids playing in the park next to the baseball fields. Spring in Ohio is slow in coming but, once it gets here, it hits will full force. Everyone comes out to enjoy the warmth after a long winter. Especially the kids.

“She was fifteen,” the old man begins, “but I knew her since she was born. Her momma had a tough pregnancy: pre-eclampsia, gestational diabetes. All that. We were scared she wouldn’t make it, but she did. My daughters are all strong women, why should my granddaughter be any different?”

“She took this world by storm. When she was little, she was a firebolt with big, red hair and a wide, beautiful smile. She smiled with her whole face. Eyes lit up like the sun comin over the hills to light up the valley. Magnificent!”

“She had a certain way of looking at you. Unafraid. So full of LIFE. Like she was just waitin’ for the next adventure to knock on her door, take her by the hand, and show her something new.”

The old man pauses, lowers his head. “She was too trusting. She got that from me.”

“She went missing in August.”

The young man started to squirm, testing for weak spots in the rope, hoping the old man does not notice. He is unsuccessful in both endeavors.

“Stop it, son. There’s no way out for you. I’m too good.”

The old man continues.

“They found her body in the Mill Creek, just over there beyond the football field. See that little break in the trees, just past where all the kids are playing? Look over there.”

The passenger does not look. He stares at the old man. The old man stares back.

“Police said someone caved her head in with one of the rocks from the creekbed. But, before that, they said she had been … violated. Many, many times.”

The old man lights another cigarette.

“They were unable to get DNA samples, and there was no evidence to go on. But, people tell stories. Rumors have a way of spreading, ‘specially in a little town like this. Those rumors led me to you. And now, here we are.”

“Mister,” the young man says, “you got the wrong man. I don’t know nothin’ about none of that. I haven’t touched any little girls. I got a wife and two kids of my own at home. I go to church. That ain’t me.”

“Hush now,” the old man says. “I been watching you for a while. Your wife left you two weeks ago. Took the kids, too. Probably a good thing the way you are. As for church? You ain’t been. Reverend Mordecai over at Westside Christian says he remembers you from high school, but he hasn’t seen you in years. He told me to let know you he’s praying for you. If I see you, that is.”

The old man takes a drag from his cigarette. “Looks like he didn’t pray enough.”

“So, what now?” the young man says. “Are you going to kill me?”

“No, son. This is your chance to confess.”

“Confess?”

“Sure. Confession is good for the soul! You and I already know it’s true. I just need to hear you say it. But I don’t have all day. So I’m going to count to five. If I get all the way to the end and I’m not satisfied with what you have to say, my friend here will take care of business for us.”

The young man struggles harder, but the ropes hold. “You’re crazy, man. I didn’t do nothin’.”

“I figured you’d say that, so I brought along some extra motivation. Look out there on the soccer field. See those kids playing?”

Two middle school girls soccer teams ran on the red sun drenched field, fighting tooth and nail to claim victor for their school. The Purple team scores a goal against the Red team. Half the crowd goes nuts.

“See number 12?” the old man said. “In the Red jersey?”

The young man squints.

“Look closer.”

The young man’s eyes grow wide and frantic. “That’s my daughter! What the hell? What did you do to my daughter?”

“Nothing, yet. But if I get to five, I’m going to shoot her first, to pay you back for taking my granddaughter. Then, it’s your turn.”

The old man levels the gun at the young man and waits patiently.

“You’re insane, you know that? I didn’t touch your granddaughter. I haven’t touched anyone. You can’t do this! I’m innocent! This is absolutely insane. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Nothin’.”

“Your choice … One.”

“What the…”

The young man starts screaming, pulling against his ropes so hard they draw blood from his wrists and left welts in his ankles and legs. “Help! This crazy old man wants to kill my daughter. He wants to kill me! Somebody Help!”

“They can’t hear you. No one can … Two.”

The young man bashes his head against the passenger side door and the window but nothing comes of it. The ropes are too tight. The window remains intact. The hog farmers of Ohio would be proud.

“I’m gonna kill you. You hear me? I’m gonna tear these ropes to shreds, then I’m gonna come over there and smash your head against the steering wheel till your skull caves in. I’m gonna laugh when I do it.”

“Interesting you put it like that,” the old man says. “My granddaughter died the same way. Did you laugh at her when you killed her? … Three.”

The young man hyperventilates, taking in deeps gasps of air in quick succession, but it isn’t enough.

“Aliright. Alright. Alright. I did it. You got me. Now, will you let her go?”

“Nice try, buttercup. I don’t want a fake aplogy. I want the real thing.” The old man looks at the kids playing on the field, smiles, and returns his gaze to the young man in the passenger seat.

“You’re running out of time fast,” The old man says, shifting to point his gun at the kids running on the field. Someone scores a goal. The crowd cheers.

“Four.”

The young man’s heaves turn into sobs. He wails.

The old man waits, patiently. He smiles at the young man in agony, then turns his attention to the soccer field, pointing the gun at the players.

“Five,” The old man says.

“Wait! Wait, please. I did it.”

“What was that?”

“I. DID. IT. Okay? I did it. I did it. I did it.” The young man composes himself. “I did it and I’m sorry. Is that good enough?”

“How? Did you choose her or was she random.”

“Random,” the young man says. “I drove past the school on the way home from work one day. I have this white van. No windows. A painting van. I keep shackles and a mattress in the back. I’ve been doing this a long time. I didn’t mean to kill her. I never killed none of them before. But this one was…”

“She was strong,” the old man says.

“She fought back. Jumped out of the van and ran. It was dark by then, and she didn’t know where she was going. She slipped down the embankment next to the creek, tripped over a rock, knocked herself out a little.”

“If she hadn’t slipped, she might have made it, right?”

“Right,” the young man says.

There is a tense quiet in the truck. The old man closes his eyes, picturing that scene, seeing his granddaughter jumping away and running to safety. The young man wonders what would have been – prison, perhaps; a life much different from what he planned. But a life, definitely, and the opportunity for something beyond.

Dreams of neverwhere. Wisps of forgotten memory carried away into the darkening spring air.

“But … I caught up to her. She screamed again, so I grabbed a rock and … and I finished her.” The young man lowers his head. “Is that enough?”

The game has ended. The players and their parents laugh, show each other pictures on their cell phones, tell stories. Then, get in their cars and slowly make their way out of the to the next thing. The sun slips over the horizon and night begins to unfurl across the Mill Creek, the back fields of James Teague High School, and the parking lot where a baby blue, 1974 Ford Pickup truck sits motionless.

“Thank you,” The young man says.

“You’re welcome,” the old man says.

A shot rings out into the night. Three seconds later, another shot. Darkness overtakes the creek, the field, the truck, and the school. The truck does not move.

Outside, the crickets begin to sing.

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Thanks for taking the time to read this story. Join us again next week for a new release from the Free Fiction Wednesday Club, where one of our award-winning authors will sneak into your brain and extract the things that move you, scare you, excite you, and make you feel love. While you wait, please chek out some of the other authors in our tribe. Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett. Most of us have some sort of books and other things for sale. We’d appreciate your support if you’re willing.

The Guardians – by Kathy Kexel

It’s Free Fiction Wednesday again. This week, Kathy Kexel brings a story about love. But not necessarily how you might expect it.

Check out The Guardians.

Thanks for sticking with us, folks! Please also consider visiting some of the other Free Flash Fiction authors: Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett. Most of us have some sort of books and other things for sale. We’d appreciate your support if you’re willing.

A Briny Story – Free Fiction from Jamie Greening

It’s fun to watch a Master at Work. And it’s fun to watch a Master mix good-hearted story telling with complicated time travel. And lakes. Don’t forget the salty lakes.

For this week’s Free Fiction Wednesday story, check out Jamie Greening’s “A Briny Story” by clicking on the lake below or going here.

Thanks for sticking with us, folks! Please also consider visiting some of the other Free Flash Fiction authors: Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett. Most of us have some sort of books and other things for sale. We’d appreciate your support if you’re willing.

This stories, however, will always be free. Because we love you. No, we’re serious. No, really.

Mulroney’s Mariachis – A Free Short Story by Joseph Courtemanche

The Free Flash Fiction starts up again – this time at one story per week – with Joe Courtemanche’s excellent story about a man haunted by mistakes in the past. And a Mariachi band.

How many of us can say their past mistakes include Mariachi music and copious amounts of alcohol? I think a lot of us can. A lot of us.

Click on the Mariachi Band to read Mulroney’s Mariachis.

Thanks for sticking with us, folks! If you’re interested in checking out the old COVID CHRONICLES, go here. Please also consider visiting some of the other Free Flash Fiction authors: Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett. Most of us have some sort of books and other things for sale. We’d appreciate your support if you’re willing.

This stories, however, will always be free. Because we love you.

The End of The Party

Folks, the end is here. The Covid Chronicles Free Flash Fiction Explode-A-Ganza is now finished. Which is a good thing, because I TOTALLY regret making it a thing for me to type “Explode-A-Ganza” each time I post one of these things. That got REAL old REAL fast.

It’s been a fun ride. We were originally supposed to do two weeks of flash fiction stories. That turned into THIRTEEN weeks and nearly 100 short stories from all the authors. We had a blast doing it, and we hope you did, too.

If you missed a story, just come back to any of our sites and float through the archives. They’ll be here for a long while, assuming we don’t have a cataclysmic technological breakdown. Which, given what’s happened this year, may actually happen. So watch out.

But if you’d prefer to have everything collected into one convenient source for all your Covid Chronicling needs, give us a few months. We’re compiling all the stories into a book, which we plan to sell at some point in the Fall. Should be an audio version as well, for those who like listening to stuff.

I’ll try to keep up with regular posting here, and might even post some stories now and again. Who knows?

For now … please visit Mr Joseph Courtemanche’s site for the last Free Flash Fiction short story, What About The Window? Just click on the window and go on in.

Thanks for visiting us! For even more exciting stories, please check out (and perhaps slide us some dollars at ) the sites of each of our somewhat-quarantined-and-still-slowly-going-more-insane-than-they-already-were authors: Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett . Freedom’s just another word for “nothing left to lose” and nothing is all that we charged you for the Free Flash Fiction Explode-A-Ganza. We hope you had fun.

Light and Darkness – a Free Short Story by Derek Elkins

“The darkness is growing.”

“That is why we carry the light into the darkness.  So the darkness can recede.”

In a world full of wounded people with just a few drops of dream left, Derek Elkins provides a light in the darkness. Click on the light below to read his final Covid Story: Light and Darkness.

Thanks for visiting us! For even more exciting stories, please check out (and perhaps slide us some dollars at ) the sites of each of our somewhat-quarantined-and-still-slowly-going-more-insane-than-they-already-were authors: Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett . Let your love light shine.

The Last Sermon of Daniel Ramone

“Reverend Daniel Ramone had a simple plan. He would open up the Church as he usually did on Sunday morning. He would set up the camera to stream live. He would preach that Sunday sermon, as best as he knew how. Then, he would go home and kill himself.”

If you’ve wondered whether we should pick up where we left off, or start over new, check out Rob Cely’s excellent story by clicking on the empty church below

Thanks for visiting us! For even more exciting stories, please check out (and perhaps slide us some dollars at ) the sites of each of our somewhat-quarantined-and-still-slowly-going-more-insane-than-they-already-were authors: Joseph CourtemancheJamie GreeningKathy KexelDerek ElkinsRob Cely, and Dr. Paul J Bennett . Sometimes a fresh start is all we need.