Or should I say Jenny-wrecked? Jenny was the name of Ben’s tiny boat. Ben drove Jenny out to the harbor on calm days to have a few beers with either Phil or Stan. They both have said on many occasions that they would end up steering the boat back to the marina after Ben had one too many.
But this night, Phil was out of town and Stan’s wife said that Stan was “unavailable.” So this night, Ben decided this was the perfect night to spend with Jenny, a stack of CD’s he bought at a garage sale, and a case of beer. It felt like he would have the serene harbor all to himself.
Somewhere past 6th beer, Ben saw that Jenny was wandering out of the harbor and into the open sea. Then he thought that it was simply a dream. “I’ll just keep napping for a little bit, then I’ll wake up and take Jenny back home,” Ben told himself.
Ben woke up to blinding daylight and the thunderous blast of a water crushing the side of Jenny. In one motion of panic and bewilderment, Ben leaped off the boat onto the beach and ran towards small crowd that had gathered to watch the beached boat.
I don’t know how Ben managed to escape without a scratch and pull Jenny out of shorebreak, but he did. To this day, Jenny sits on a trailer in Ben’s driveway. Ben shares his story with anyone willing to listen: a story about his night with Jenny, a stack of CD’s, and a case of beer.
Notes: Thanks for reading. I plan on sharing a 1-minute story every Monday. I appreciate your feedback. Do you like my fictional stories more than the poetry? Do you prefer the fiction over the articles with words of encouragement? Thanks again!
For the past few years, on every weekday morning, he sat by his apartment window to drink and think over his carefully prepared coffee. However, for many weeks he pondered life outside his urban maze. This day, in his quiet sanctuary on the 2nd floor he heard rural whispers as an image appeared on the surface inside his cup.
He stared into his cup, picked up his phone, and called the office. He notified that he wouldn’t return for another week. “I’m not OK, but I will be,” is how he ended the conversation. Instead of heading to the office, he began to pack his backpack for his unplanned trip beyond the city’s boundaries to find the place he saw in a cup of coffee.
Thanks for reading my 1-minute fictional story. I wrote it a couple of years ago on Backspac.es and breathing new life to it on my blog. Please comment below and share your thoughts on this story. I appreciate your feedback.
They had searched for each other for many weeks after their first encounter in this coffee shop. He had been in line behind her when she realized she left her wallet at home. He kindly offered to pay for her latte. She accepted and smiled and stared for one second that seemed as long as their own favorite love song. He replayed the memory in his head a million times. He was just looking for a decent mocha before his appointment nearby. He didn’t live anywhere close to this part of town, yet he came to the coffee house almost three times a week afterwards, just to see if she would be ordering her drink. This day, he sat at the table wide enough that there would be enough room for her. He didn’t realize that she had been waiting in the window already scanning the sidewalk for the man she desperately wanted to meet again. After many minutes of both of them pretending to be there solely for a cup of coffee, it merely took the sound of a cup breaking upon the floor to get the two to turn around and engage eyes one more time. He knew there may not be another chance. “Nice to see you here again…”
Thanks for checking out my latest 1-minute fiction. Your feedback is important and appreciated. Please share your thoughts and comment below.
Why did I get out of the game so quickly? I just stood there like a tree. I should have jumped to my right, but Adrian was looking right at me and I froze. He kicked the ball right at me, and I was an easy target. Callie is watching this game. Tommy said that she likes me. This time I am going to stay in the game for a long time. Someone get out now. I’m next. This time I won’t get out. Adrian can’t be the best in the game every time. I hope the bell doesn’t ring. Not yet. Not yet.
“On my 13th birthday I rode my bike to the boardwalk with a pocketful of quarters.” Read the rest of the story “Boardwalk” on Steller http://ow.ly/RwM8U
I truly enjoy writing and illustrating one-minute stories. Let me know what you think of my stories. Leave a comment below. Your feedback is much appreciated.
“The newlyweds shopped for the first time since they said, “We do!” It was time to start furnishing their first apartment together.””
I wondered if my visual stories that I have been sharing lately actually fit in any genre of writing. I found out that it is called “flash fiction.” There you go. I write flash fiction.
Read the rest my story “Their First Home” on Steller https://steller.co/s/4nXEUUBBUwE