My Craft Stories

The Highway to Sioux Falls

He was a big fish in this little pond of 6,000, the smallest television news market in America. When he went out, people swarmed and begged for an autograph.

Besides being known by the women of Glendive for his smile, wink, and perfectly combed hair, he was known by the men as the crazy dude who was always running around poking his nose into the reasons behind cattle stench, house fires, bar fights, and rodeo bareback events.

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My Craft Stories Very Short Stories

The Dead will Pile Up

“Ready,” the squad officer shouted out. I stood at the ready waiting for the order to shoot. Five rifles with laser sights pointed at the target dancing with my heartbeat. I took a short breath. The laser lights danced again. “Citizen, society demands control, which you have none of.” The words bounced in my rattled head. “You will learn to control your impulses. Or the dead will pile up.” Freedom or conformity. Transformation or tradition.…

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Stories Very Short Stories

A Matched Set

She stuck to the slide. The skin burned against the metal and for weeks no one would attempt it again. She hid her legs, except for Easter when her mother made her wear a dress. She stood against the kitchen cabinets hiding the matched squares on her thighs. Thanks for reading. Leave me a comment? Other Writings You May Like Cindy’s Sin Greyhound Arriving : Chapter 3 A Simple Mistake That’s a Wrap

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My Craft Stories

A Cold, Wet, Sticky Package

The remaining packages sat near the green door waiting for the next thief and all of them contained something messy and ugly. Our homeowner spied the woman’s face on his phone. Lovely. She likely won’t come back. Too bad she only took the small box. The biggest package contained the head of the last guy who tried to steal from him. A cold, wet, sticky, nasty, bloody head.

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My Craft Serialized Stories

Jake Rutledge and the Guy with Bad Timing – Part Five

Sally took longer than she needed to pour the coffee. I’m sure glad everyone could gather at their usual breakfast spot as if nothing had happened. Assholes. In my present state, I felt like someone made me suck on an exhaust pipe all night long. And my brother Dan, the weatherman, was dead. Not that anyone around here seemed to care that he lay below them in the basement.

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