Hey boys, how ’bout y’all makin’ yer Ma some wind chimes?”

The group of boys sprinted off around the property to search for materials. Ages six to seventeen they were nearly a full baseball roster.

Many of the local folks wondered how it was possible for there to be eight boys in a row with no girls.

Some say Ma dabbled in the dark arts. Others, thought she was a luck charm and would travel from far away to have her bless their bulging bellies for a boy.

That night Ma walked around the porch admiring the children’s fine work.

Two sets of chimes were made of rusty tractor parts. Four sets were made of sticks and cones. One set was made of old bones and feathers. One set was made empty soup cans.

The ninth set, a set of upside down daisies, silently swished in the cool night air.

Ma shot a rage filled glare toward the loft of the old barn as she ripped the flowers down, grinding them to bits under her bare feet.

A tiny set of eyes darted from view, followed by the faintest glint of long blonde hair.

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

© 2015, Barbara W. Beacham

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June 23rd, 2015

Posted In: Mondays Finish the Story, Short Stories

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[audio:runningshoes.mp3]

Download the Running Shoes PDF

Running Shoes – By: Danny Machal

Part I

‘My name, is Berry Augustine.’

‘I’m thirty five years old and I’m a sick man.’

‘I’m also now, dead.’

‘At the age of twenty nine I was surprised to find there was a woman who would marry me.  My lovely wife Dana; she must have been sick too.  No sane and healthy woman would ever get involved in my situation.’

‘She is sad that I’ve gone, but she’s also the strongest woman I’ve ever met.  She’ll never stop loving me or forget me and the void I’ve left in her will be filled quickly.  She is just that kind of person, a survivor.  Not like me.  I was weak.’

‘You see, they told me I have obsessive compulsive disorder.  The three letters OCD would somehow define me to a lot of folks.  I’m a person ya’ know? I’m not just an ATM for the pharmaceutical corporations, and it isn’t like I’m contagious.’
(more…)

June 9th, 2009

Posted In: Short Stories, zEverything

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Give Blood and Thanks: Chapter 8 and 9 – Download PDF

Chapter 8:  A Thanksgiving Remembered.

A neon Burger King sign illuminated the brown shuffling figure that was Remy.  He smacked his lips at the sight of a discarded Whopper in the parking lot.  Picking it up, he put it under his filthy rags of clothes and set out to find a location to eat.  A place where he would be hidden and out of sight.

The burger meat was cold, the bun stale, and the cheese hard.  Surprisingly he didn’t have to pick off any insects.  Usually, depending on how long the food was on the ground, the ants always attacked first,  then the bees set to work, and if it was a  substantial piece of organic protein, the maggots would soon take up residency.  Remy was only forced to pick off maggots one time, before he knew the ins and outs of being a condemned person.  It was right after she took everything and changed the locks on the doors.  His drinking drove them away, it drove everyone away.  He had no where to go but the gutter, and there he stayed, just like he deserved.
(more…)

May 24th, 2009

Posted In: Give Blood and Thanks, zEverything

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No really, the cake owes me like 10  bucks and said he would pay me soon.  I have yet to see any green backs from that cheap punk.  Don’t do business with cake…

Anyway, here is a 100 or so word story I wrote for the 100 Word Stories Podcast! on with the show…

[audio:liarcakedanny.mp3]

Download the PDF

February 27th, 2009

Posted In: 100 Word Stories, zEverything

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