Click the titles below to read a short story by me, the Scribe.
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"Hello?"
"Uh…vitayu, Nico?"
"Uhm…sorry, who are you looking for?"
"Uh, vybacte…uh, sorry, is Nico?" said her thickly accented voice on the other end of the line.
"No, sorry. There’s no Nico here. I think you have the wrong number," he said, at the same time turning again to the television - the focal point of his small living room. He pressed the un-mute button. The sounds of faraway drama again filled the living room, and drifted into the kitchen where he stood with the phone. Read more...
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The sun seemed almost brighter than it had at full noon as it slowly sank toward the horizon in the early evening. The sun, defiant, determined to impress whoever might be watching, daring anyone to scoff at its setting. It would certainly rise again tomorrow, in a blaze of pink and gold. Drivers flipped down visors to keep from being blinded as its dying rays descended. Beams shot through the gaps between skyscrapers and around wiry steeples like spotlights, causing people on the sidewalks below to squint and hold their newspapers up to shield their eyes. But still they rushed on, not paying as much attention to the sun’s performance as he would have liked. Read more...
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The bell hanging over the door tinkled as he ducked in out of the rain. He was holding a newspaper over his head to ward off the worst of the storm.
She drew back the curtain and entered the shop from the back room, wiping the dirt from her hands on an old green apron. She had been repotting forget-me-nots. She rummaged around behind the counter for a few minutes, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
Having escaped from the wind and the rain outside, he lowered the newspaper and began looking about the shop. She straightened behind the counter.
"Hi, can I help you?" Read more...
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