Welcome back, Radishes! I know our hiatus here has been a bit longer than any of us were expecting, but it’s a new year and we’re excited to get back into short stories. Due to other things happening in our lives, Sarah and I have decided that we will trade off months for posting. I’m taking January, she’ll take February, and back and forth we’ll go. And so, without further ado, here’s a story I wrote for a contest back in the fall. It didn’t win or place or anything, but I’m still pleased with it and I hope you like it too.
The piece was called “Stuck” by Anonymous and to their eyes it didn’t look like much.
“Please tell me – because I’m absolutely dying to know – how is this art?” The taller woman cocked her head to the side, one hand resting on her hip, the other at her face. Her index finger tapped against full lips curved into a puzzled frown. “Either of us could do that.”
“I’m not so sure I could,” the shorter woman replied. Technically speaking, her friend was correct. The canvas was completely blank except for a single black dot just off center enough for it to annoy her. Of course, she wasn’t talking about the piece itself. She was thinking about the getting a piece into a museum. What kind of person do you have to be to get into the Art Institute of Chicago where people come to see a piece of velum that looked like it could be in the aisle of any craft store except for the finger print that apparently made it worthy of a $17 admission fee and security guards?
If only she knew who Anonymous was so she could look him up and ask. Continue reading
“James! Are we heating the whole world now? Close the door!”
The boy groaned and complied, but not before taking one last look around the back alley. He didn’t see the door latch shut behind him, but he heard its distinctive click and felt it in his gut.
I should have made a run for it, he thought.
“James! Quit daydreaming when there’s work to do!”
“Yes, Mom,” he said, but she had already moved on to other things. This nook was the only relatively quiet place in the shop, sandwiched between the bathroom and the kitchen. Here resided the old metal shelves full of cleaning supplies and a doormat saturated with a decades worth of street salt and crumbs.
Nothing magical here, which James found comforting as the only non-magical person working at Farmers Family Bakery. In that regard, he had more in common with the mop than he did with his parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even the stragglers who worked here all with talents that it was feeling like he’d never have.
But there wasn’t time to dwell on that, not two days before Christmas. Continue reading
Happy New Year, Radishes! Another year of Stories by SaM, and another announcement about changes. Sarah and I have decided that we will each be posting once a month – my stories will go up on the 1st, hers on the 15th. We hope you stick with us and keep liking, commenting and subscribing!
Prompt: Start your story with something old, and end it with something new. So I didn’t exactly start this story with something old, but it gets there eventually, and it does end with a few things that are new. Happy 2014!
Charlotte didn’t throw around the word ‘hate’ very often, but when she did, she meant it with every fiber of her being.
Really, it was a relatively short list. At the moment, it only consisted of two items: 70s music (Billy Joel excluded, of course) and New Year’s Eve.
New Year’s Eve was like her senior prom six months ago. People made huge plans. Going alone was totally taboo. Dressing up was mandatory as was stupid amounts of alcohol consumption.
But the biggest way in which the two weren’t just similar but practically identical was this: neither one lived up to the hype.
Ever. Continue reading
Prompt: Tell the story of Halloween from the perspective of a piece of candy. Well, I tried to do scary. I’m don’t like being scared, but in the spirit of Halloween, I tried to give it a shot. Not my favorite story ever, but I wanted to post it today to go with the holiday. Have a spook-tacular day and Stay Radish!
A string of four-letter words coursed through me with each step I took.
Jerk. Cold. Shit. Boys.
Once I reached my car at the end of the street and a lifetime away from a terrible party that I knew would be awful, only one word is left. Idiot. I was such an idiot. Why else did I come to a Halloween party hosted by someone I can’t stand, wearing a modified m&m costume that is completely un-sexy thankyouverymuch?
Because I’m a masochist with a crush on an idiot boy, that’s why. Continue reading