Donkeys
Posted: May 8, 2013 | Author: Castor | Filed under: Short Stories | Leave a commentMediterranean sea sparkling azure blue- noon sunlight igniting wave crests. Santorini and her white cement buildings capped as blue as the sea drew ever closer. Not even one hundred yards from the island you felt the magic of the place. The hair on your neck, your arms, your face- all rose in recognition of it. Tiny figures weaved in and out of the homes and streets above you. Strain your ears- can you hear them? Read the rest of this entry »
Coffee for One
Posted: March 8, 2012 | Author: Castor | Filed under: Short Stories | Tags: coffee, english, fiction, prose, short story | Leave a commentThe University’s library has a coffee shop. Studious young men and women who attend it are aware of it their freshman year. They aren’t just aware of it, the two become involved– you know, lovers. They watch sunny days and sunsets through the forty-inch double-paned glass windows of the fourth floor. The less academically focused students are surprised to find out the library has a coffee shop, let alone more than two floors. I am of the latter. I’m here to do everything but schoolwork, content to just sit and watch the rain fall on miniature umbrellas weaving their way through streets below. It’s nice here, because Read the rest of this entry »
Basement Webs
Posted: February 23, 2012 | Author: Castor | Filed under: Short Stories | Tags: fiction, prose, short stories | Leave a commentThe basement was not newly renovated. Its carpet was not elegant, or clean, or of middle-eastern decent. The walls had been freshly painted four or five years ago (egg white), and bright, oddly colored spots of spackle covered various cracks. Twelve carpeted steps lead upwards. Along the ceiling hung rectangles of the white Styrofoam-like material used for dropped ceilings- with little holes and dents for texture. There were only seven or eight tiles left, leaving the bowels of the house displayed, as if it were suddenly disrobed and had tried in vain to cover its nakedness. It was a large room, or at leas Read the rest of this entry »
Charlie
Posted: October 27, 2011 | Author: Castor | Filed under: Short Stories | Tags: fiction, prose, short stories, writing | Leave a commentCharlie’s cigarette made the gradual change from red-hot cherry to grey-black ash. The steady stream of smoke that had been heading skywards stopped, and it took him a few minutes to notice. Brain tells fingers to let go. Thumb and forefinger open, release the half-smoked stick. It fell noiselessly and rested on the ground for a second before the wind caught it. In the distance, the mountains rose and fell, tinted blue. Fog gradually hid the peaks. It was not the typical heavy fog normally seen, but a gentle, steady fog. ‘Perhaps Read the rest of this entry »
thismouseisnotmodest 