Stephen Gordon sat on the edge of the chair. He had been waiting an hour already and was filled with enough nervous energy to run three Boston marathons and was ready to start climbing the wall. A glance at the secretary glued him to the seat. After passing her desk for the third time while pacing earlier she shot him a look that sent him to his chair like a scared schoolchild. He had already been on three interviews with this company, each one with a person higher up on the food chain than the first and he was beginning to wonder if this interview was with God himself. Whoever it was, Stephen hoped the guy would get his act together and start the interview soon, the food stamp office would be closed in an hour.
“Hobbs will see you now Mr. Gordon.” The secretaries’ voice cut through him like a knife.
“Shit!” Stephen thought to himself. “Old man B. Hobbs himself! President and CEO of the company. Guess I wasn’t too far off in thinking I was waiting on God.”
Behind the door Stephen was surprised by how small and simple the office was. He expected a man with B. Hobbs reputation to have the biggest, most opulent office on the face of the planet. This office was actually quite humble, almost penitent. The only decoration was a painting of a rich garden hung on the wall behind Mr. Hobbs. On the desk sat a smart phone, a bowl of apples and a single sheet of paper. It was too dark to read what was on it at a glance.
B. Hobbs himself was another surprise. Before Stephen was an old man that despite his reputation looked as harmless as a butterfly. He did not bother to look up from the book he was reading. Stephen was reminded of his grandfather.
The Interview is part one of Contracts of the Father. Available on Amazon for the Kindle. If you don't have a Kindle, you can get it FREE at Smashwords for any other e-reader. The Interview is also available FREE for Apple ibook
On June 10, 2003, a rocket left the third planet from the star that is called Sol. This rocket, aimed at the forth planet, was carrying a small robot called Spirit. This robot had a simple mission to study the fourth planet and look for signs of water in the planets past. Armed with cameras and a grinding tool, Spirit was a robotic geologist. Spirits’ home planet, called Earth by its inhabitants, is actually a rather hospitable planet. Earth is quite warm and has an atmosphere that supports many different forms of life, both plant and animal. From this womb Spirit was shot into the freezing vacuum of space where it spent six months asleep only to be subjected to the burning heat of re-entry into the atmosphere of an alien world. Spirit bounced to a landing, came out of its cocoon, unfolded itself, and began to explore its new surroundings.
Not unlike a butterfly from its home, Spirit slowly began to check its systems, running test routines before leaving the shell of its former self behind. Satisfied that all systems were in working order, Spirit set out to explore its new home, the planet that the inhabitants of the third planet called Mars. Mars is a much harsher world than Earth and subjected Spirit to higher temperatures in the summer, blowing dust and sand, and freezing temperatures in the winter; much the opposite of the garden planet that it left behind.
I always knew my son would kill me. What makes that statement truly strange is that I knew it before I even met his mother. I guess a bit of background is in order.
According to my mother, I have always been good at math. To hear her tell it I was adding numbers before I even learned to speak. While I can’t confirm that, I do remember always being bored in math class because it went too slow. In my boredom I discovered Greek myths. What particularly fascinated me was any story involving the Oracles. How cool would it be to be able to predict the future?
One evening when I was about 16, I was watching the news with my dad and the weather forecaster came on. I realized that the guy was using mathematical models to predict if it would rain tomorrow and I started to wonder if the same could be done for predicting future events other than weather. The more I learned about weather prediction, the more convinced I became that my idea would work. It was mostly just looking at past patterns and then running statistics to make an educated guess. I spent hours looking for patterns in history. By the way, you know that saying about not learning from history? I can prove that statement. I studied meteorology in college to get a better idea of how the prediction computers worked.
After years of study and work, I had a model that gave predictable results. Just like weather prediction, it was not an exact science but the more I practiced the better and more accurate I got. Perhaps those Oracles from the Greek stories were actually math savants. I started by predicting events for groups of people and nations. It wasn’t until later that I started predicting the future of individuals. I told a few friends that I could tell the future and they thought I was nuts. When I showed them accurate predictions of their futures they came around and soon word started to spread. One day somebody asked me what my future held.
Review by:Jess Elizabeth O'Connell A very enjoyable intriguing read. I am reminded somewhat of the movie 'Paycheck' maybe the author watched it and got inspired. But this is better than the movie in my opinion. Perhaps as an idea the author could use this piece as the beginning of a novel. Maybe there is more to this story!!
It is told in the first person and there is no dialogue (dialogue fans take note). It is a good paced story that you will not be able to put down. I won't mention anything about its contents as I dislike spoilers. I do agree with the reviewer below me, that you do feel are on the journey with the character, you can feel the emotions.
A highly recommended read.
Review by: Cristina Salinas I was fascinated from the first page. This short story has depth, a touch of mystery, and you really feel the character's journey. I enjoyed reading this and would recommend it.
The Eternal Question
I looked at the paper with a sigh. Some nimrod quit his job because the number 666 was on his W2. He was quoted as saying “no amount of money is worth my soul.” I put the paper down on the diner counter as I mumbled to myself. “So glad I live in the modern age.” The old man next to me turned and looked me up and down with a critical eye. “What was that?” “Sometimes I think this whole world has gone crazy.” I said to him as I pointed to the article in the paper. He picked up the paper and scanned the article with a slight grin. “It does seem rather random on the surface, doesn’t it?” “On the surface?” Out of the frying pan and into the fire I thought to myself. I had gone from reading about a religious nut to talking to a conspiracy nut. I wasn’t sure which was worse. He laughed out loud as I looked at him, the laugh a sound somewhere between all-knowing and all evil. I almost got up to move down the counter and he froze me with a twinkle in his eyes. I was stuck looking over the edge into a bottomless pit of knowledge. “I’m not crazy.” he stated “In fact, I am the sanest person on the planet. My sanity comes from knowing why we all are here on this far flung rock in space.” “Look buddy,” I replied warily, “my momma always told me there were two things to never talk about with strangers; politics and religion.” “Religion has nothing to do with it other than a tool to attempt to explain the unknown.” This sparked my interest. This man may be crazy, I thought to myself, but he seems to have a philosophical bend to his lunacy. “OK. I’ll bite. Why are we here?”
For some reason all she could hear was ringing in her ears. She could not understand why she smelled fireworks in the living room or why her arms were so heavy. Through a haze she could see him look at her with a look of shock, a growing stain spreading across the faded shirt she had given him for a birthday years ago. His lips formed two words before he fell face first on the floor.
“I’m sorry.”
As she looked at him on the floor she realized that the growing pool coming from under his body was his blood. She watched as the blood slowly spread across the floor like a lava flow threatening to burn all in its path. Reality seeped in further as she saw that a small pistol was in her hands even as she could not recall how it got there. A small voice in her head told her to leave and run but she could not. The world turned into shades of gray, everything in black and white. Everything but the crimson pool slowly spreading across the floor.
She managed to pry the pistol from her hands and it dropped to the floor without a sound. As sensation slowly returned, she could feel tears running down her face. The tears stung as they reached a cut on her cheek. The AC came on and blew away the haze created by the gun smoke allowing her to see the scene clearly. Somehow she even saw herself as though she were simply looking at a picture, not even a part of the grizzly tableau. His body lay face down on the floor in a pool of blood in the kitchen doorway. She saw the blank expression on her face as she stood ten feet away, pistol at her feet.
Reviews of I'm Sorry -
Review by:Michael Gardner on Jan. 22, 2015 : David Reynolds can write. He may not write long stories, but he can write. I don't want to say a thing about this story because it's a moment captured in time, wonderfully told, and anything said about the plot would be a spoiler. One to read again just to pick up the subtleties. (review of free book)
Review by:Vanessa Finaughty on July 03, 2013 : A moving story that I enjoyed reading. I found it quite sad, but it mirrors countless real lives, so makes one sit back and think long and hard about the world we live in and our choices. (review of free book)
Review by:S. J. Qualls on June 29, 2013 : I really liked this, not the subject, of course, but the complete story told in a manner that moved me right along. Great job! Thank you! (review of free book)
Review by:Artie Margrave on June 29, 2013 : It was compelling and complete in its shortness. Well done, author. (review of free book)
Review by:Jamie Hamilton on June 28, 2013 : Was drawn in from beginning to end. I hate reading short stories for this reason, I WANTED MORE, wonderfully told. True gift he has with words. (review of free book)
Review by:Carol Moye on June 27, 2013 : Wonderful story. It's an age old tale retold in a fascinating and surprising way. The writer has a true gift for storytelling. I was spellbound from the beginning to the end (review of free book)
Review by:Robert Friedrich on June 27, 2013 : I just read this and really enjoyed it, really great story, writing and idea. Really enjoyed it and recommend this to Drama lovers and all out people who want something new.
In the not too distant future, or perhaps the recent past, a trial took place. This trial was both supreme in its importance, and also nothing in that it passed without notice. Nobody appeared in the courtroom save the defendant, a homeless person dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit; the judge, a man close to retirement that only hopes for an easy day with no real issues; a prosecutor, a man looking to make a name for himself and move up in the world; and a court reporter. Even though countless scores of people claimed to follow the defendant, nobody could be bothered to take the time to be at the trial to act as witness for the defense. The media was nowhere to be seen, they were too busy chasing after the latest starlet scandal. No politician had taken note; they were all set to pandering to a public that continues to ask about the latest titillating details of someone else’s downfall.
The judge lazily slapped his gavel on his bench, signaling the start of the proceedings. “Let the record show that the defended is an indigent male, twenty two years of age. I understand you have no funds to hire council.” The defendant looked directly at the judge, neither repentant nor challenging. “That is correct.” The judge was too self-absorbed in his own thoughts to notice, let alone return the gaze. “I also see that you have waived having council assigned to you, is that correct?” “That is correct” “You understand that you will have no right to appeal after this court passes judgment.” “All judgment is relative your honor.”
Review by:Michael Gardner on Jan. 21, 2015 : Even though it only takes ten minutes to read, this is a great bit of seething satirical social commentary. I won’t write a long review. Your time is better spent reading the book.
It was Bill’s first day at Amaranthine and he was confident in his work as he arrived. He reported ten minutes early to make a good first impression and even though he was fresh out of school he was top in his class. His instructors told him they had never seen anyone better than he was. The word prodigy was even tossed about a few times.
That confidence was not to last. The security guard, a large red haired man with small forehead that sloped back accentuating his large nose, barely even looked at him as he arrived and proudly displayed his newly minted ID chip.
“Hi!” Bill waved a greeting at the guard.
The guard merely grunted and continued thumbing through the magazine he was reading.
“I’m the new” Bill started to say before he was cut off.
“Don’t care,” came a slightly more intelligible grunt.
At first Bill was angry at the guard but he decided to not let it get to him. “I’m supposed to report to Mr. Aoristic.”
The guard looked up menacingly from his magazine, sized Bill up, and found him wanting. Without a sound the guard pointed at the staff interface kiosk at went back to his magazine.
“Um, thanks.”
Another grunt emanated from the guard that sounded suspiciously like bite me.
Jenkins looked across her navigation reports to the operations station where Christo was bent over his screen intently muttering to himself. “What is it?”
Christo didn’t reply at first. The only noise was the slight hum of the exodrives pushing the ship forward at faster than light speeds.
“Christo?”
Christo finally looked up. “Cut the drives!” Jenkins saw terror etched deeply in the face that now looked at her.
“What? There’s nothing out-”
“Do it!” Christo yelled, cutting her off.
In all the years of pushing ore across the stars Jenkins had never heard Christo lose his cool. She hit the emergency stop without even thinking about it. The ship shuddered out of exospace as the stress of the sudden deceleration threatened to rip the reinforced hull to shreds. A horrible vibration rattled the deck accompanied by the muted sound of metal tearing.
The silence after the violence was deafening. The crew of Ore Runner Teresa knew that even in an emergency stop, the ship should hold together. What they heard and felt was not normal.
“What was that?” Jenkins asked, breaking the silence.
“Something hit us.”
“Impossible.” Jenkins replied, “Nothing was on the scope.”
“Then the scope must be broken, because we are losing atmosphere. Send a repair bot to check the scope while I do a hull scan.”
“Aren’t those damn things supposed to keep on top of the scope? That’s why we bought ‘em.”
Christo ignored the mutterings of his partner. Jenkins had never liked the idea of robots on the ship; she didn’t trust them like she did humans. Sometimes Christo himself wished for more people to man the ship, even if it was just to have someone other than Jenkins to talk to, but the truth was people were expensive. Not just in wages, but also in food, air, and weight. The three repair bots weighed as much as one average human, didn’t eat anything, and could do jobs that were too dangerous for humans. Jobs like repairing the tear in the hull he just found. With a sigh, he sent a command to bots two and three to head to the airlock to start repairs.
Jenkins peered over Christo’s shoulder. “Find somethin’?”
“Tear in the hull.” Christo replied pointing at the display, “I bet it was just a crack caused by hitting something but got bigger with the emergency stop. Did the bot report back on the scope?”
“Ya. Looks like some sort of overload. No info on what caused it.” Jenkins looked in awe at the hole in the side of the ship. “Lucky you caught that. If it had gotten any bigger it could have caught in the slipstream and ripped us open like a can opener.”
They watched as the repair bots made their way across the hull to the breach and started working.
“Admit it,” Christo said “even you would rather have robots doing that than be out there yourself.”
“I guess so.” A light started blinking on the navigation panel drawing Jenkins’s attention. “Looks like the scope is back on line.”
Just as Jenkins started back to her post to check the readout a siren screamed out a warning. Jenkins ran to the panel and saw that the warning was too late. Something was about to hit the ship and she could do nothing about it.
“Hang on!” she shouted to Christo just before the stray meteor smashed into the hull causing the ship to lurch out of control.
Recommended to those who enjoy the tradition of classic pulp ...January 25, 2015 ByT K Flor Format:Kindle Edition A meteor hits a spaceship, causing severe damage. One of the two crew members is unconscious. Both of them are trapped in the control room, where the air is thinning. To survive and to start again the inert ship, Navigation Specialist Jenkins needs the help of the ship's three bots. But only one of them comes to her assistance... A race ensues to make the most pressing repairs, to save the other crew member and to get the ship moving again. And it turns out that this is not all. There is a reason why only Repair Bot Three (RB3) came to the rescue. The events are told through the eyes of Jenkins and RB3. The pace is fast, the language is terse and sprinkled with mild cursing. There is a lot of dialog, some disregard of science (concerning the laws of physics and what is known in artificial intelligence), a tough human who does what is necessary for her own and her crew member's survival, and a robot that is more than what it seems to be. I read it in one gulp. Recommended to those who enjoy the tradition of classic pulp science fiction. I received a free copy of the book in exchange for a non-reciprocal review.
Dean sat at the desk in his study and looked at the clock on the wall. 10:42 in the morning. He was late. “Well,” Dean said to himself, “the man always kept his own schedule.” With a sigh he returned to his paper.
Outside the house a middle aged man approached and paused to look at his watch; a gold and silver pocket watch that seem out of place in an age where most people checked the time on their cell phones. He was a very average man. His dark blue suit, while well fitted, was off the shelf. Wire frame glasses covered blue eyes and his dirty blond hair was well on its way in a retreat across his head. If asked about the watch, the one thing about him that stood out, he would explain it away as a gift from his father.
He looked at the garden in front of Dean’s house. It was an explosion of color and life with many different flowers, trees, and bushes. The garden drew in birds, butterflies and other small animals and was a picture of harmony. The man smiled in approval as he took it all in, appreciating the balance of nature.
He casually strolled to the front door and pressed the doorbell. While he waited he breathed in deeply to enjoy the fragrance of the blooms nearby and closed his eyes to listen to the music of the world around him. He opened his eyes to the sound of the door opening and saw a young woman looking at him critically behind a security door.
“Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that was meant to chase away interlopers and Jehovah’s Witnesses.
“Hi. I’m here to see Dean.” He calmly watched her eyes travel up and down his body looking for a reason to turn him away. “I’m sorry to drop by un-announced,” he added as an afterthought, “I can come by later if this is not a good time.”
She opened the door with a sigh and beckoned the man in.
Review by:Devi Nair on Jan. 15, 2015 : It is just a 5 page book. But the story written in those 5 pages are truly brilliant. Such stories are good examples of why beautiful stories do not require hundreds of pages. There are so many emotions etched in those few words.
The story is about an emotional meeting between an old man and an old friend. The story is about the conversation they have sitting in his old house. And what a conversation it is!!
Just like the number of pages, I will give the same number of stars to the book. You must read it. It is just a 5 min read.
Review by:Bruce Arrington on Jan. 22, 2015 : "Visitor" is a brief story about two friends who encountered each other earlier in life and have now come together a last time. I'll say no more for fear of spoilers. The writing is smooth and the story flows well. However so many details could elaborate and enhance this tale, as well as give it a sense of logic which unfortunately it lacks in several places. It felt to me, as a reader, that only part of a short story was told. I received a copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. (reviewed within a week of purchase)
We have a problem in this nation. Fires in small buildings close to fire stations are being put out quickly and fires in large buildings far away from fire stations are taking longer to be put out and need more manpower. This is unacceptable. All Fires should be put out in an average amount of time with the same number of personnel.
How did this problem come about? A large part of the problem is the firefighters themselves. These people are basically lazy, taking a job simply so they could have all that time in between fires to sit around and do nothing. Many firefighters would not be able to succeed in the real world. An un-reasonable union that makes it all but impossible to fire firefighters protects these sub-standard firefighters. If one looks at the living conditions in a firehouse a very communal environment exists. Obviously these people are socialist looking to assault the American way of life. Last and even more disturbing, most firefighters are men and they seem to make a lot of calanders with pictures of themselves without shirts on.
In order to combat this issue of inefficient fire fighting reform is needed. If this nation continues to ignore the problem of wasted firefighting resources we risk our future. It is imperative that we not ask the firefighters themselves as they doubtless would have no real insite on firefighting and would simply suppot the status quo. Somebody needs to ask the important question –
“Is our fires burning rightly?”
Review from Smashwords - "This insightful satire frames the current public school system in America as if it were a local fire department. Not only does it help to inform the reader on issues such as No Child Left Behind, it also shines a much-needed light on why the system doesn't work. Although the language could be smoother at times, the smart metaphor will have you snickering."
Futurecaster - As a young boy he came up with a way to predict the future. His life was good until a friend ask what the future held for the Futurecaster
The Eternal Question - Why are we here? A chance encounter at a local diner gives a not so pleasant answer.
Spirit's Last Vision - The Mars rover Spirit captured mankind’s imagination with its ability to carry on and transmit new discoveries back to Earth. Unfortunately for man, Spirit's last discovery is its most amazing that mankind will never know.
Futurecaster - Can a fortune teller avoid his fate? I'm Sorry - How far would you have to be pushed? Spirit's Last Vision - Mankind will never know Spirit's greatest discovery The Eternal Question - A chance encounter gives one reason why we are here The Second Coming - Are we ready? The Interview - Can Steven land the job?
Deathmongers: Where the Light Dies is an anthology of death and survival, of grotesque horror and subtle creeping in the back of everyone’s mind. Each author showcases his talent and art in stories that will not only shock you, but will take you into the dark corners of the earth. Reality molds with fiction and you will learn a very valuable lesson: life is short; death is an eternity.
TABLE OF CONTENT
D E A T H M O N G E R S UNDERTOW by Laura Mathesson PUT ON A HAPPY FACE by Terry M. West I’M SORRY by David S. Reynolds MY DEATH ROW BOREDOME by Chris H. Kelly BARKING MAD by Kerry E. B. Black STORM WARNING by John Ledger CONFESSION by Ken Goldman THE TERROR OF LODGEPOLE LAKE by C. L. Hernandez WISH by Penelope Sweet THE SISTERS by Ray Zacek THE WRONG WOMAN by Naching T. Kassa TAKE A LOOK IN THE MIRROR by Dustin L. Coffman HOLLOW DESIRE by Wayne Hills SWEET DREAMS by Penelope Sweet F L E S H W O U N D F L A S H FLUSHING FIONA by C.L. Hernandez BLOOD TIES by Alex S. Johnson SHADOWS OF MEMORY by Chad A. Clark DISCONNECTION by Artie Margrave THE POWER OF SILENCE by Angel Cox TAKEN by Terri Hubbard Carle MASS GRAVE by E. S. Wynn
Seasonal, Sweet, and Suspenseful: A collection of Holiday, Romance and Mystery Short Stories.
Welcome to Seasonal, Sweet, and Suspenseful, a collection of holiday, romance, and mystery short stories from writers across North America. These shorts each offer a distinct experience and create a powerful emotion, whether it is nostalgia, passion, hope, or fear. The voice of each writer is distinct and unique, creating a mosaic of stories united in themes but varying in styles. It is our hope that you enjoy this anthology and find something within it that speaks to you.
The Barbie Killers Jeff knew what he was doing was wrong, but that didn't stop him as he pushed his way through the bushes to get a better look into Anna’s bedroom window. He was disappointed to find that she was not in her room and he would have to be content to just drink in her surroundings. He saw a typical teenage girl’s room. The walls were plastered with posters of various boy bands and teenage heartthrob actors with a few pink unicorns thrown in for good measure. Above the desk was a poster that was given more attention than the others. It was a poster of the well known supermodel Mary W. Shelly. She was dressed in an American flag bikini and red white and blue top hat. Shelly stood against a light blue background with one hand on her hip and the other pointing at the viewer. At the bottom of the poster read the slogan “I want you to be beautiful!”
A backpack lay on the bed where it was dropped, spilling its cargo of textbooks and makeup across the pink comforter. What he couldn't see was the notepad that had been taken from the pile that was now on the desk. It was open to a plain page with one sentence written on it.
“I am tired of the laughter. I can think of only one way to be thin enough.”
Jeff noticed that the TV on the dresser was left on so he continued watching the room figuring that the object of his desires would be back soon. He shifted his position a bit to get more comfortable and watched the evening news as the newscaster went to commercial with a fluff piece from the fashion world. “In other news, fashion model turned business women Mary Shelly announced her takeover of Divadrone fashions. She plans to bring the clothing line into her already wildly successful Shelly! line of cosmetics and beauty supplies. Ms. Shelly is quoted as saying “I just want to make the world beautiful, one body at a time”. Plans are in the work for a fashion blowout that is sure to be electrifying. Sports and weather after the break…”
His vigil was cut short be the sound of wood breaking followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting a floor accompanied by a scream of pain. Jeff sprang from the bushes and with a panic searched every window he could find. In the living room window he caught sight of Anna lying on the floor, her leg at an awkward angle, covered in debris from the second floor banister that had come apart. AS she lifted her head he saw a noose around her neck. Anna made eye contact with Jeff, let out a groan, and let her head fall back to the floor with a thump.
Jeff panicked and ran from the house. He got as far as the street and realized that he could not leave Anna on the floor like that. Even though he knew he would get in trouble for spying on the house he had to get help. As her turned back towards the house Jeff pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911 and prepared himself to answer some uncomfortable questions.
Slave in Heaven Chapter one – the idea
The inspiration had been, if you pardon the pun, a bolt of lightning. She wasn't sure why nobody had thought of it before. Such a simple idea, the problem she had was that she was never any good at presenting things so she needed the help of someone she could trust. She needed a close friend, one that was open to new ideas.
She knew who that friend was, but she couldn't find him. She foolishly started at his office, but he was never there. Why the boss had even bothered to give him one was beyond her. All she found there was an empty desk and an unused datebook. She tired the break room next. That was a fifty-fifty chance of finding him there where they had spent so many hours discussing ideas before but had no luck. She looked in on the muses, for he did seem to favor their company, but they were out as well.
She searched the main complex high and low but still could not find him and in her desperation she looked down. Through the clouds she saw him in a field, the muses running, skipping about and playing games. With a smile, she slowly drifted down from the clouds to join him, being careful to not get in the way of the muses as the tumbled about on the ground.
“I should have known I would find you here”
“Caitlin!” He turned to look up at her as she continued her descent with a smile. “What brings you to this little slice of heaven?”
“I’m looking for a friend. Do you know of any good ones around here?”
“I might be able to come up with one or two. Depends on who is asking.”
“I am”
“Hmmm, a friend for you.” He looked grave as he stroked his beard. “That’s a tall order, it will take some time.”
Caitlin gave him a shove, knocking him over. “Be nice Hobbs!”
Last Monday
Adan Moosetosser was perfectly average. He was Five feet, nine inches tall and tipped the scale at 162 pounds. His stats were right where the average male was; if one was picky enough to look such a fact up. He had been average his entire life, even on school tests that graded on a curve he was always right in the middle. In the looks department, Adan was also average. Not ugly, but nor was he a super model. If you saw him on the street he would give you a strange sense of déjà vu and yet you would forget him 10 minutes later. Were he married; he would most likely somehow have 1.86 children. He was not married however, as the average age men get married is twenty-seven and Adan was only twenty-five. His extreme averageness is what made the events of last Monday all the more extraordinary.
Adan’s Monday started the same as usual. The alarm went off and he hit the snooze three times before getting out of bed. He read his morning paper over his cereal as usual focusing mostly on the comics and weather. He got out of the house a bit late as usual and started his usual commute to work. The first hint that this particular Monday was to no longer be average was when a stranger bumped him on the sidewalk causing Adan to spill his coffee on his shirt.
“SONOFA…” Adan turned to yell at the offending ruffian but he was already gone. The only person around was some long haired skater kid that had the look of someone that had recently enjoyed the byproducts of burning local herbs.
“Duuuddeee,” the skater dragged out as he pointed at Adan, “that coffee stain on your shirt totally looks like Jesus!”
Adan redirected his gaze to his previously white shirt with the sinking realization that there was no time to go home and change. If only Garfield weren’t so funny.
“Damn it,” he mumbled to himself. Adan turned to the skater. “Where did the guy that bumped me go?”
“What guy dude? It’s just you man.”
“Didn’t you? Never mind.” Adan gave up and decided to push on with his day not knowing the worst was yet to come.