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Latest Stories

March 19, 2024
Fantasy Stories Wondering Monk

Just My Imagination

The alarm clock went off and started playing an awful tune. Tom opened his eyes and closed them back, squinting. He reopened one eye and stood up to stop the torture. The phone was on the desk, in the furthest spot from the bed. Although he changed his way of…
March 19, 2024
Science Fiction Stories Ocelotlzin

Earth Is Dead

Recording… It doesn't matter who I was; I probably lived a long time ago, and I am now just a voice someone added to the audio-visual records. What is essential is the recollection of events that lead to the current state. So, a little history needs to be…
March 08, 2024
Flash Fiction Benoit

Some Enchanted Evening

It was a rugby tackle with tears: Chrissy burst in, sobbing and babbling, hugging James. Her face was all wet, eyes wild. What…? My parents split up, Dad has moved in with his boyfriend and I cannot join them. I am shut out. I have lost my dad. Torrent of…
March 08, 2024
Horror Stories Marvel Chukwudi Pephel

In The Hands Of My Legs

The car pulled up in front of the large salon. The neon sign, that sexy broad thing, on the salon'sroof read "Mr. Gil's All-night Salon". The exhaust pipe of the car was pumping solid smoke, theswirls moving from the car and towards the salon.…
March 07, 2024
Mystery Stories Vanessa Leigh Giles

Casualty of Love in the Time of Coronavirus

Chapter 1 Until Death do us Part ‘Ring, ring!’. I answered the telephone and asked, “Hello, good evening. Who’s this? “Hello.” This is Dr. Smith from Red Cross hospital. “Is this Mr. Locke, John?”, he asked, hesitantly scratching his bald head. “Yes, doctor.…
March 07, 2024
Crime Stories Robert Pook

Bar Room Trigger

Another return journey on footpaths so familiar. He strides across each crack in each paving stone. Regular loose drain covers sidestepped. Mapping long ago mapped in Richard’s desolate mind. His pace hastened by the sight of the oncoming storm. Quickening…
March 04, 2024
Horror Stories Ano Chinemerem

Sanctity

Where should I begin? I could begin by telling you about this comely boy, whom every notable person around the streets agrees his smile could charm the bills off one. Between one smile, there was his goodness, his dreams and humanity—a little far ahead?— but…
March 04, 2024
Flash Fiction Emanuel Diaz

Et Mortui Partium

As Rafael stepped out into the rain, it wasn't the ordinary drops that fell from the sky. Instead, it was a storm of souls, each one taking the form of shimmering jewelry as it cascaded toward the ground. Rubies, diamonds, and sapphires twinkled amidst the…
February 29, 2024
Poetry Jing Li Ava

London

‘Am I in London?’ "I am." Where is Elizabeth? Happy living story All of your chapter Bounlance joy Please my heart Power hand Wise mind Our baby Vow vow Love all love Miss I miss Endless wonder Bring us together Love all love Miss I miss For everything My…
February 29, 2024
Flash Fiction Rob Pook

Life Sentence of The Smith

Born nine months after his country won the World Cup.A child prodigy.Cast off at age twenty-four.Husband, father, emigree, away on the other side of the world.The blue-collar life.The dreams of success.The search for fulfillment.The long years of empty…
February 29, 2024
Mystery Stories Joshua Lowther

The Operator

Jason looked over to his right, his eyes barely able to focus themselves on the subject of his attention. His neck ached terribly from the strenuous movement. He was tired. The captain’s gaze came to rest on the rookie sonar operator sitting tense at his…
February 29, 2024
Flash Fiction Salvatore Difalco

The Chute

At dusk, we left our unit with a soft pink bundle. I carried it through the wet streets and into the black woods. I said I’d take it all the way, the bundle, but that we had to drop it in together. My wife’s green eyes flashed. “Don’t make me do that.” I…

Distance from my second floor window on Fourth Street to Anna’s apartment across the street was a canyon, a gulf stretching six thousand miles.  Back to the place that haunted my dreams, made my hands shake, killed ambition and chilled friendships.

 

So shocked when I saw her face, the scarred left side of her cheek that she tried to cover with her long dark hair.  But the eyes, her eyes were the same green I saw when she stared at me through the smoke after the gunfire stopped.

 

How the fuck could she turn up in my city, my block, across my street!

 

*  *  *

 

The day when it all went down the sky was the color of dirty pavement, the countryside erupted in yellow dust, and humid air smelled of death even before we entered the village.

 

A bad day, a very bad day to die.  Six of our platoon — my brothers — bought it when an IED took out their Bradley the day before.  Then Ruiz was popped by a sniper as he sat down to eat.  Barnabas, our squad leader, screamed at us to move out.

 

We moved.  A team of three — Alex, the Joker and Tyrone — smashed in the front door of the piece-of-shit mud hut where we thought the shot came from.  Place went under heavy fire for a full minute.  Maybe two, then they came out, thumbs up, and walked on.

 

I followed, but stopped to look inside the house.  That girl was the only one alive, huddled like a pile of rags in a corner.  Those green eyes asking What the hell did you do to my family?  Her family was all over the floor and table.  No more breakfast for them.

 

How can the eyes say so much without words?

 

*  *  *

 

Back at the Company I found the First Shirt.  Asked who we’d killed.

 

“Fucking enemy, that’s who.”

 

“One was still alive.  A young woman.”

 

“So?”

 

“Does she have a name?  Any of them?”

 

He sorted some papers.  “Battalion says Abbadabba-something.  Fuck you expect?”

 

“But I heard Mosul had a lot of Christians.  Were they Christian or Muslim?

 

“Fuck do you care?  Okay.  The chick is named Anna.  What kind of name is that over here?  Now get out.”

 

Week later I went to the hospital in town.  Just curious.  I saw her, bandages on her face.  “Shrapnel,” the Iraqi doc said.  “She will live.  Her father was translator for Army.”

 

*  *  *

 

Who do you talk to about shit like that?  Pinheads in the Pentagon had redeployed me back to the front three times.  I told an Army shrink I was hearing static in my head, couldn’t think straight, thought I might kill myself.  One more body wouldn’t make a difference.

 

He said, “Get back to your unit and quit malingering.”

 

When the saviors wipe out a family who did nothing, don’t we got a right to get crazy?

 

Found a priest — guess he was.  An old fart.  No collar, so he might’ve been some other kind of padre.  “Son, we all have our cross to bear.  I see nothing but good coming in the end — if there is an end.  Will you pray with me?”

 

What good’s prayer if you’re dead?  It’s a cop out for the living to get off the hook.

 

*  *  *

 

Anna, I’m scared.  I haven’t got the guts to talk to you.  I kept telling myself to cross the street and explain how it all went down.  I felt strangled even thinking about it.  I couldn’t do it.

 

So I watched.  I’d see her go out on an errand, running like a mouse caught when you turn on the kitchen lights.  Returning with bags of food or whatever.  Or I’d see through her window as she messed around in the kitchen.

 

I didn’t pull the trigger, but could she ever forgive me?  Maybe if I lied.  Said I was over there once, building schools or some shit.  Welcome to America, Anna.

 

Once, I saw her standing on the stoop and staring at the sky.  Tears came to my eyes because she was so small and sad.  Beautiful except for the scar.  She could have been an American, someone’s girlfriend, someone looking for a good job, a step up the ladder.

 

*  *  *

 

Took me a long time, but I wrote a letter.  Lots, but I tore them all up.  Finally said, You don’t know me but I heard from neighbors that you are from Iraq.  I was there once and loved the country and its people.  I live across the street from you.  If I can do anything to help you in your new country please let me know.

 

I signed it and added my phone number.  Late that night I slipped the note under her door.  And waited.  I’d added that lie about loving Iraq.  One more sin wouldn’t make a difference.

 

Two days went by and she didn’t call.  Maybe she didn’t speak English.  Or gave my note to someone who probably said I was a stalker.

 

*  *  *

 

Maybe a week later I was sitting on the stoop drinking a beer when she came out.  She saw me.  I stood up.  Lifted my hand to wave.  Smiled.  A welcome-to-America smile.

 

An odd look crossed her face.  Except for the left side that was scarred and would never move.  She came down the steps to begin crossing the chasm between us.

 

At that second I saw a cab kamikaze around the corner, aiming at Anna.  I jumped in its path, hitting Anna with a body block.  Saw her float back to the sidewalk as the cab hit me.  I arced over the hood and hit the street, thunk, like someone had dropped a hundred eighty-pound bag of something.

 

Cabbie hit his brakes.  Then just stopped.  No one got out.

 

I was hurt bad, but the pain hadn’t begun.  The clouds above broke for a second and I saw blue sky.

 

Bad.  I was either going to make it or I wouldn’t.  I wasn’t afraid of death.  I’d paid my dues now.  If I made it through the day, it would be a good day.  If I was going to die, well, it was a good day for Anna.

 

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Anna’s bewildered look, her eerie green eyes saying, “So this is America.”

 

#  #  #

 

Bio:  Walt Giersbach bounces between writing genres, from mystery to humor, speculative fiction to romance.  His work has appeared in print and online in over a score of publications.  Two volumes of short stories, Cruising the Green of Second Avenue, are available at Barnes & Noble and other online booksellers.  He’s also bounced from Fortune 500 firms to university posts, and from homes in eight states and a couple of Asian countries.

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