Short Stories

The Ghost of Highway 12

Bob felt great. He had the road all to himself. For hours his only company had been the thousands of tiny insects dancing in the beams of the headlights.

Cool mountain air rushed into the cab through the open window. It carried a hint of rain, but the sky was cloudless, marked only by the countless sparkling stars and the thin glow of a crescent moon.

The feeling of freedom and power as he pressed down on the accelerator was overwhelming - almost intoxicating. Only one thing bothered him at the moment. He didn't know where he was.

Cross Roads

I read an article in the newspaper this morning regarding persons who have fallen into swimming pools or other areas of water, and remained under water long enough to be life threatening or possibly fatal.

We cheer whenever we see the recovered party being worked on by medics, suddenly began coughing, spitting and sometimes crying, indicating they were one of the lucky ones to be brought back to the state of living. If that could only be true but alas, in reality only a very few can lay claim to being returned to the point of where they had died, so as to continue on with their lives as if nothing had ever happened.

The Find

A large auditorium is filled with some 300,000 archaeologist from all over the solar system. Vid-links to every part of the universal net have been established to witness the events about to unfold. Individuals, top in their respective fields, have gathered here today in the year 99,999. The beginning of a new millennium has brought them together at this place to hear about the find. The find will change the way ancient man has been viewed.

The speaker is Ke-ith dru-je, a renowned archaeologist in the history and study of 20th century man. His findings are part of schoolbook learning centers across the universal net. Having devoted only 125 years of his young life to the study and understanding of prehistoric man, Ke-ith has accomplished what has taken other centuries. I refer to Ke-ith as ‘he’, yet humans of this time have long since shed male and female classifications.

Old Dog, New Tricks

I was hiking in Papago Park with my father-in-law, John, when he lit up a cigarette and started smoking. Smoking while hiking seems, to me, anti-productive, but who am I to question the logic of a 55 year old man? He was in great shape and he didn't slow down my pace, so I just kept my mouth shut.

I kept it shut, that is, until he threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped on the smoldering butt. I stopped in shock. We were hiking on a dirt trail in God's country--scenic desert complete with Saguaro and Cholla cacti; caramel-colored buttes and jagged mountains; small, crystal lakes with ducks and assorted fowl; and a deep blue sky sparsely littered with puffy white clouds--and he has the nerve to carelessly toss his cigarette aside?

There's Always Tomorrow

Four uniformed men sat in the relative quiet of a room. They were surrounded by the flashing lights of the computers, and the controls that commanded the military might of a country. The sounds of mayhem and confusion in the war room outside could just barely be heard through the heavy door. The voices were muffled by the thick wood and armor plating. Occasionally a few words could be made out - a sharp and angry bark of a command.

Outside were the tiny firecrackers - the sergeants and corporals yelling at each other because there was no one else to yell at. Inside there was the sizzling fuse of a case of dynamite. And it went off.

"How could this happen!" screamed General Harkins. "It's impossible. It wasn't supposed to turn out this way!"

"General, I . . ."