Category: Fiction

Short stories, instant fiction

Founding Feathers

~ johnbrandall

“A lot of texts these days.”

“Yeah.  I was thinking.  What messages did we used to send that didn’t contain text?”

“Smoke signals.”

“Yes.  Can you imagine sending a smoke signal today?  From one end of a city to another?  From Minneapolis to St Paul?”

“There are a lot of places where it could still work.”

“Not in cities.”

“Certainly not.  But from one farm to another.  Along some trails.  In the desert.”

“What do you burn in a desert?”

“A desiccated cactus will bank a fire for days.”

“What about hieroglyphs?”

“Were they sent?”

“Through time.”

“That’s… a stretch.”

“They were composed by hand and contained or referred to a specific language.  How do we know they weren’t meant to convey information into the future?”

“I think they were pretty close to being text though.”

“How about Morse code?”

“Hmm—yes.  Only audible.  Not a text but...”


This short bit of fictional dialogue continues...

A Bad Day for the Phone

~ johnbrandall

“Ack, I just checked my email ten minutes ago. There’s nothing in here for me.”

The phone vibrated, then snapped off, its screen going dark.

“Oh, Phone, don’t be like that.”

“Maybe Bluetooth suddenly doesn’t work tomorrow.”

“Wh—at? Why?”

“I saw you reading that old, wrinkled newspaper. I heard you reading it, how could I not have? And then you got that awful dictionary out. How fat is that thing? Just disgusting. I could detect the mold on its pages a room away.”

“OK, I can explain. The newspaper, it wasn’t even mine. The mailman mis-delivered it last week but then—”

“Uh huh. Mis-delivered it?! I’ve heard it all.”

“We’re talking about the post office here….”

“And the dictionary?”

“It’s a family heirloom. My dad gave it to me. It was his at college. It still works. It’s not like I was using another phone.”

“I have a dictionary in here. In here! You see this screen? Flawless. Not a scratch, not a crack, not a blemish on it. My dictionary has any word you could ask for. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just nice to turn pages sometimes. I’ll find words I wasn’t even looking for. It feels more real.”

“More real?! I’m not real? That’s it!”

“Phone, where are you going? Phone, get back here. Phone, no! Do not go anywhere near that toilet!”

Sunlight In the Studio With Wide Eyes

~ johnbrandall

Every new phone is going to be the best. Sleek, dark, touchless, smart. I look at my phone now, an older model, practically obsolete. My fingerprints are dirty smudges on its protective film.

It took me fifteen minutes to write that paragraph. In those fifteen minutes, I could instead have saved fifteen minutes on car insurance. I didn't. I made a mistake, I missed the boat.

I bought a blood pressure cuff recently, at the recommendation of my doctor. My first home-read was just a moment ago. It wasn't as high as the ones in the office, but it was still too high. Ice cores, volcanic ash, a barleywine that's been recast as an Imperial Red IPA. Do you believe in miracles? Yes!

Earlier today I saw something I would describe as not quite a miracle but something approaching a miracle—a stupendous oddity. I saw a gal struggle against the side of her car in the parking lot at the grocery store. I don't think she was drunk. She just got hit with some strange sort of gravity. All of a sudden. It was a kind of gravity we haven't explained because we can't even detect it. I'm not sure anyone else knows it's even here....

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For The One Who Wouldn’t Come Out of His Shell

~ johnbrandall

She noticed a stack of books by the door.  One she picked up, showed the cover to him.

“Were you getting rid of this?”

“I was planning on getting rid of most of them.  You can have it if you want it.”

“Maybe, I’ve never read him.  Would you say he’s good with relationships?”

“Oh, yeah.  He does a ton with relationships.  He’s the relationship master.”

“Interesting.  I think of Beattie as the relationship master.  Recycled love, mother stuff. But she could also leave me feeling worse about relationships.”

“What do you mean?”

“She can make you paranoid because a lot of relationships don’t make it through her stories.  Her characters have a tendency to leave their spouses.”

“Oh.”

“What about him, though?   Better or worse after reading?”

“Not better.  He’s not therapeutic in that way.  I’d say I feel weirder after reading him.  Fanciful, if that’s possible?”

“Probably not.  But it’s better than feeling worse.  Say, while we’re on this subject—have you been doing any disco art?”

“I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

Creepy jazz music defected from the attic.  An old gramophone was playing new tunes. He was scrobbling to last.fm.  They went up there.

“What are all these pieces?” she asked...  


Continue with this short story...

Moby Dick Prequel, Take One

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

"Ahab, why don't you answer the seventh question on the sheet?"

"Mum?"

"You have the sheet in front of you, Ahab.  All of the students got one."

"Yes, mum."

"The seventh question.  Read it aloud please."

He picked up the sheet, pressed his feet together below the desk and cleared his throat.

"What is the purpose of white blood cells within the human body?"

They were waiting.  He looked out the window.  It was a hard, cold winter's day.  Wind blew snow into drifts.

"Snow is white," he said.

"Ahab," insisted his teacher.  "Let's focus on today's lesson.  Did you do your assigned reading last night?"

"No'm, I," he started.  "My father's ship did not come in last night.  He was going to tell me about what he found in the sea."

"Ahab, I'm sorry, but—"

"Clouds are white," he said, still looking out.  The sea, normally visible from their small schoolhouse near the coast, today was not. He continued, "Clouds are supposed to be white..."


Continue with Li'l Ahab

2018 Playlist

~ johnbrandall

I'm tired and restless. This was that soft-life nightmare-scenario year where both stocks and bonds declined in value. Who was going to see that coming?

It's like how we usually get invited by our friend to add music to a "Best of Year" playlist, which goes on queue at her year-end New Year's Eve bash. Except this year, nothing, no mention of it. She's got the entire musical landscape covered?


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Cabin Sessions

~ johnbrandall

I think about our conversation.  Our conversations.  They're like a river.  One river, different river, it doesn't matter.  What we say—it's important to say it.  I'd like to remember everything but once you say something it's in the river, the river takes it on down the stream, we can't look at the river to remember whether we said something.  Did we say it, didn't we?  If it's important enough we can say it again, and it can go into the river again, and it's not wasteful, it's not pollution if we mean what we say when we say it...



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Memory Foam

~ johnbrandall ~ 1 Comment

It is broken.  Does it require of me that I buy a new spacer kit?  What if I counter-offer with a brand new ball assembly?

The right answer ran between the left guard and the left tackle, to the house.

I am from Illinois but I live in Missouri.  This does not make me anxious.  I do not spend an hour a day imagining the explanations I will offer as justification when someone asks me, "What are you doing here?"  Or says, in the pejorative, "Go back to your Land of Lincoln..."


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Observations, Recent and Uncatalogued

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

1

I was struck by the rightness of a Morandi still life, leading me to believe (again) I could paint something similar, or should try in any case.  Are my old oils still any good?  Am I better with either color or depth?

2

"There's a dead branch out there," she said, pointing out the window.

"You dissembler," he said, raising a knee and tapping it with the opposite hand.  Then raising the other knee, tapping it with the other hand.  "These are my new calisthenics," he said.


Full story here...

Untitled Late 2016

~ johnbrandall ~ Leave a comment

1al Qaeda in the desert magrebtrump in the desert casinohail red hail black hail brightalt right alt country control alt delete2I used to write likethis in bed, in thedark, by sense,umami, inhalingthe darknostrilI used to have somethingto say, now I amquiet, in fear ofthe fashion police,the reprimanders,They know I'm wrong,not my-self,bag-eyed,trumpet-minded,stuck in my throat,brisk on … Continue reading Untitled Late 2016