Old Short Stories
Table of Contents
Most of these are a product of the Writing Fiction class I took sophomore year at university.
Story With Graphics
Perhaps it was his calm demeanor, or his talent for silent conversations, or his not quite disagreeable opinions. The consequence was the same: all these factors converged to make the man boring. Perhaps when he was younger, quicker, livelier, he would have garnered a handful of friends to converse with.
Relationships evaporated. The man’s education was over and his professional career was closing. He tried dedicating his resources towards a smaller group, tightly knit. Decades passed. The investments matured, but the gods of chaos took each of his companions before they were thought due. Everyone was gone.
The man existed: sleeping, reading, walking. He was probably sitting over a bowl of cold stew, equal parts carrot, potato, and water.
Skipping the typical phases of death, he expired quietly. His body, slumped against the counter by the table; his head, laid at a forty degree angle to his torso. A position impossible to rest in, but not unlikely to die in.
It was exactly twenty days till the aromatic nature of decomposition stirred the neighbors to action.
