All posts filed under: Short Fiction

Living and Dying Under a Harvest Moon | A Short Story — RUCKERPEDIA

One of the most romantic pieces I’ve ever written. But of course I always like to add a little tragedy for good measure. Just a tad this time, though. Enjoy! { 1039 words } As dawn claims the night I see the morning sun begin to break over the horizon from our window. I’ve been watching Stella sleep. She’s so quiet and still, I want to feel her beating heart to be sure she’s still with me. With passion as our spark, we’d made love, […] via Living and Dying Under a Harvest Moon | A Short Story — RUCKERPEDIA

Living and Dying Under a Harvest Moon | A Short Story

{ 1039 words } As dawn claims the night I see the morning sun begin to break over the horizon from our window. I’ve been watching Stella sleep. She’s so quiet and still, I want to feel her beating heart to be sure she’s still with me. With passion as our spark, we’d made love, off and on, from dusk to midnight; our mortal bodies barely sustained the immortal force of our love. Afterward, we’d lay next to each other, silent, for there was no need to speak. The call and response of our lovemaking reverberated into some unseen alternate dimension. We welcomed a cool breeze from the window to wash over us and lick the beads of sweat that remained on us like morning dew on a grassy grove. “I love the way you love me,” Stella whispered before drifting away to join the dreaming. I’d barely heard her; her voice was like a phantom she’d said it so soft. I’d simply stroked her forehead and hushed her to sleep. Still afflicted by insomnia, …

Finder Kept | A Tale of Unintended Fate

{ 1682 words } Submerged within a heap of filthy old blankets and trash next to the garbage bin on a chilly autumn night, a shaggy old bum witnessed a dark-clad man running through the alleyway that he called home.  Given the way the Running-Scared Man kept glancing behind himself, it seemed obvious to The Bum that someone or something had given him chase. The Bum did not want any undue attention offered his way and so he remained still while he lay upon his bed of detritus.  With hardly peeking eyes he saw Running-Scared Man stealthily toss something toward the heap of black trash bags that lay mere inches away from where The Bum rested his head.  The Running-Scared Man sprinted away and disappeared into the dark of night with the sound of his footfalls fading fast. Hearing no incoming footsteps, The Bum emerged slightly from his safe cover to dig amongst the waste in hopes of snatching up the discarded curiosity like a homeless man on a free plate of food at the …