short stories

Short Story: The Pea Pod Gambit

The Pea Pod Gambit

by

Joseph Devon

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“You suck,” Seth said. He was lying flat on his back on an old beat up couch that was one step up from a college dorm room. The couch was long enough so that his whole body could sprawl out on it with either his feet or his head up on one of the arm rests. Seth enjoyed either position and alternated back and forth over the course of every Sunday afternoon. He was currently favoring a head on the armrest position, and he was leaned slightly off the couch in an attempt to get the attention of Atticus.

Atticus was on the smaller couch that was at a right angle to the foot of Seth’s couch, with just enough room for someone to walk through, comfortable lounging space being at a premium over things like the ability to walk out of the living room and into the rest of the apartment.

Atticus’s couch was like a dirty marshmallow, the once bright creamy fabric now dingy and tattered. His lanky body was folded into an angle, the shorter couch requiring him to use both armrests as he lounged, his knees slung over one and his head propped on the other, a feat his body had long since learned to manage with maximum comfort while still leaving enough room to manipulate the plastic video game guitar controller in his hands.

“You suck,” Seth repeated, louder. Read more

Popularity: 4% [?]

short stories

Probability Angels: Part 7

Probability Angels

Part 7: Politica del Carciofo

By

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the seventh part of a series of stories beginning with, “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Probability Angels: Part 1” and continue on in order.

Or you can go here and buy the book or go here and view the book in its entirety.)

Matthew rolled over in his sleep. Something deep inside of him was telling him that it was time to wake up. With his eyes closed and his head encased in slumber he thought that maybe there was a pot of coffee on in the kitchen, that maybe his daughter was running the shower, that maybe his wife was pushing clothes around in their closet, he thought that one or all of these things were calling him out of his sleep and he turned to his side and smiled, his eyes still shut. He would wake up and go see his loved ones and kiss them before they started their days, and later they would be the last things he saw before he returned to bed. Then he opened his eyes and saw the Himalayas sprawling out in front of him and he remembered that he was alone.

With a soft grunt he pulled himself to a standing position on the rocky ledge he had occupied for the last few weeks and began to stretch the stiffness out of his body, a motion so deeply ingrained in his psyche that he performed it despite not being in possession of a body.

He finished stretching and looked around at the mountain top covered all over with the sleeping forms of other testers. Once his ears adjusted to the wind he found it to be oddly quiet and he decided to stroll a bit, the occasional dislodged stone or crush of gravel as he slipped sounding far too loud in the rocky snowscape.

He arrived at a lower spine of rock that afforded a view of Everest’s southern face. On previous visits to mountaintops he had found a sense of peace when looking out at the scattered testers sleeping off years, if not centuries, of weariness from a push. Now, in the weird silence that he was convinced was somehow following him, things looked decidedly off and he found himself wishing for the company of other non-sleeping testers. Rubbing the back of one hand over a still weary eye he fumbled with the other in his pocket and dug out his cell phone. He flipped it open and his thumbs went to work, looking up numbers, typing out text messages. Then he flipped his phone shut and waited.

The wind picked up. It sounded like the mountaintop was screaming. Read more

Popularity: 10% [?]

short stories

Short Story: The Donkey of Vincento

The Donkey of Vincento

By

Joseph Devon

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In the village of Vincento, just north of the hill country, there is a common saying amongst the people when someone is being too boastful or thick headed. You’ll often hear it uttered that someone is being, “Gravid Acciastona,” or, “The True Fool,” or very common too, “The Ass of Vincento.” It is a wonderful play on words when spoken in the native language, but more and more one hears it nowadays in translation, a move which seems to shake the saying of all its touching connotations for I feel that most people who speak it now have no grasp of its story of origin.

You see, awhile ago in Vincento there lived a young boy named Theodore. Most everyone called Theodore by the nickname Pullazo, which, in the language of the people, means “donkey.” This nickname was the result of a joke Theodore’s uncle played on him when he was a little boy involving the family donkey. There is no need to go into that here except to mention that the nickname Pullazo was a harmless one and, when used by his friends and family, was not uttered with insult in mind. Read more

Popularity: 5% [?]

short stories

Short Story: Knots

Knots

By

Joseph Devon

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Alexis sat back against the wall of the tub and felt a slosh of tepid water rise up her back. Marianna was getting out; she was always the first one out. Alexis watched their mother lifting her baby sister up and noticed how Marianna appeared to frown as the baby fat hanging off of her cheeks pulled her mouth downward. Then the cheeks jiggled as she was set down and then a smile forced its way onto Marianna’s face as she noticed the feeling of her wet feet on the tiled bathroom floor. This was fun for her. Everything was fun for her. Everything was new and everything was a joy. Slapping her round stomach, completely lacking in muscle, was a game. Doors were toys. The few new words she was able to say were things to be played with. Her teeth made her laugh. She stood on the floor and proudly pushed her belly out and slapped her hands against it before their mother placed a towel over her head which produced a stomping dance because now the towel over her head was a game. Read more

Popularity: 11% [?]

short stories

Probability Angels: Part 6

Probability Angels

Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord

By

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the sixth part of a series of stories beginning with, “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4 and 5. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Probability Angels: Part 1” and continue on in order.

Or you can go here and buy the book or go here and view the book in its entirety.)

Kyokutei walked through the upscale hotel restaurant. There were lustrous burgundy leather booths and thick crystal glasses everywhere. A waiter clicked a long lighter a few times and an order of Banana’s Foster was set into motion. The atmosphere was thick and conversation seemed barely able to make it across the tables before falling with soft thuds into the thick carpet.

Kyo disapproved and found himself disliking the entire place. His nose curled in a snarl, although he was unaware that his emotions were leaking onto his face.

He was dressed in a frayed rayon suit and his neck was worn red from the cheap collar stays in his shirt. None of the diners or waiters noticed him as he walked, literally, through some of their tables. He made his way to the rear of the room and then ducked into the kitchen. Walking through a chef or two and past a rack of rolls he turned into a back corridor, past a walk-in refrigerator and freezer, then through a doorway covered with thick plastic strips and onto a loading dock. A few more turns through boxes and past a row of metal lockers painted gunmetal green and he was in the loading dock office.

Hector was seated at a beat up lunch table reading a tattered paperback novel with a cowboy on the cover. He folded it closed and tapped it against his thigh leaning his large frame back in his seat as he stared up at Kyo through his mirrored sunglasses.

“Gregor here yet?” Kyo asked. Read more

Popularity: 7% [?]

short stories

Short Story: Continental Drift

Continental Drift

By

Joseph Devon

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Randy stood on the sand just where the small ripple like waves could reach up and wash over his feet. His sneakers were in his hand, one sock balled up in each of them. It was dark, the moon was only a sliver at his back. The stars in front of him and the lights of Cannes behind him canceled each other out leaving a dull yellow aura in the nighttime sky.

The Mediterranean was calm, more like a vast lake than the nautical crossroads of three continents. The town behind him was quiet. It was late. He was lost.

He tested the sand with his hand to see how wet it was, then sat down, setting his shoes beside him. He had heard many stories about Cannes, had read about it in all the travel books he and his wife had read to study up before their trip, but none of that made any sense to him. Also she wasn’t his wife anymore. Read more

Popularity: 7% [?]

short stories

Short Story: You’re Allowed to Order Takeout

You’re Allowed to Order Takeout

By

Joseph Devon

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“So,” Neil said to his son, Illiam. “I think that’s about it.” Neil was bent over, arms folded on his kitchen counter as he read a stained and flour-dusted piece of paper. Neil’s clothes were casual, almost threateningly so, the kind of lounge-about clothes that someone accumulates who almost never has the chance to lounge about, the taut seams of his jeans and bright, just out of the store, colors on his shirt showed no wear.

Illiam, eight years old and standing on a chair to occupy his own piece of counter facing his dad, was the opposite image. Pants torn at the cuff with the feint aura of grass stains on the knees that can’t quite be washed out. He was staring up at his dad with the expectant eyes of an eight year old son whose dad is about to do something wondrous.

Neil was looking back and forth from the recipe coated with dried flour paste to the imposing collection of ingredients he and his son had slowly dredged up from all corners of their kitchen over the past half hour. He picked up a box of baking soda and held it close to his nose, reading the fine print on the side where it explained how to get your whites whiter. “This is the same as baking powder, right?” He squinted as he read, his confidence fading. “Why would anyone eat something that you can use to clean bathroom tiles with?” Read more

Popularity: 6% [?]

short stories

Probability Angels: Part 5

Probability Angels

Part 5: Robin’s Flight

by

Joseph Devon

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(Please note: This story is the fifth part of a series of stories beginning with, “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, and 4. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Part 1: Second Choice” and continue on in order.

Or you can go here and buy the book or go here and view the book in its entirety.)

The graveyard was covered in snow. Hector stood and shuffled his feet, his suit jacket stretching taut across his strong back and shoulders, his mirrored sunglasses a tiny snow covered graveyard all on their own.

Next to him stood a shorter man with a bald eggshell skull and a hat in his hands. He was working the brim of his hat through his fingers, rotating it in circles over and over. Gold rimmed spectacles covered his face like the clasp on a jewelry box. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, then went back to moving his hat through his fingers.

Behind him stood a girl in her early twenties with long hair as dark as a raven and black eyebrows over a plump nose. Her eyes were heavily lidded and the hints of purple makeup surrounding them served to make her hair seem darker. Overall her face gave the impression of stupidity unless she happened to look directly at you, at which point an intense energy was conveyed. The rest of her was bouncy, as if she were six years old and impatiently waiting for something. One of her hands was bare; the other was sheathed in a delicate looking black leather glove. She was staring at the back of the bald man’s head.

“I still don’t understand why Gregor wants to meet with me here of all places,” the short man said looking around at the snow capped gravestones.

“Because he does, Jerome,” Hector said with the air of someone who doesn’t care much about the complaint he’s responding to.

Hector reached over and took Jerome’s arm, pulling it closer he looked down at his watch. Then he turned and looked back over his shoulder at the raven haired woman, holding Jerome’s arm up as if it were merely an extension of the watch, he asked, “Is this right?” Read more

Popularity: 10% [?]

short stories

Short Story: Mindy and Barkley

Mindy and Barkley

by

Joseph Devon

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In a far away valley in the land of Kerlarcky
There lived a young girl and her young friend named Barkley

The girl’s name was Mindy, her hair was dark black,
While Barkley was shorter with spikes down his back.

Read more

Popularity: 8% [?]

short stories

Short Story: Light-Years Ahead of His Time

Light-Years Ahead of His Time

By

Joseph Devon

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“Computer,” Charles Arthur said, “how much longer until you shut off?” He leaned back, one leg thrown over the arm of his plastic eggshell chair. His silver jumpsuit glinted in the overhead lights and he threw a casual glance at the giant screen behind him.

There was a click as the computer’s speaker came to life, then a distinct pause, almost as if the computer was sighing in disgust. “That won’t happen for a little while yet, Charles Arthur.”

“Computer,” Charles said, not listening to the entire answer as he trampled over the computer’s last few words, “I’ve decided I don’t like you calling me by my full name anymore. In fact,” the leg slung over the arm of the chair kicked a few times and Charles leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, “let’s go with something entirely different. Something regal and commanding. You know, like Commander Blap, or something.” Charles clenched his fists and flexed his arms as he stressed the name, attempting to add machismo to it through forced body language. “Can you come up with something like that?” Charles lolled his head around to look at the computer screen. Read more

Popularity: 8% [?]

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