Brian Stanton

“Satisfaction Without Sweat” by Brian Stanton

Submitted to Contest #239

Reginald (Jake) Jacobson bent low and stabbed a tee through the perfect green turf. He frowned. It didn’t snap through that thin root film of resistance. He straightened easily–too easily. He raised a hand to his forehead reflexively, as he’d done so many times before, to guard his eyes as he scanned the fairway. Long fronds drooped beneath the giant royal palm above him, rustling gently against the cigar-shaped trunk indicating to him a five to six mile-per-hour easterly wind.  Gentle. Consistent. Insignificant.  He held out his...

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“Fear No Shadow” by Brian Stanton

Submitted to Contest #169

Ignorance is the soil of lies, darkness nourishes the roots. -Dad Currently, Grumpkin didn’t have lips, but if he did, he would have licked them. All he had was eyes, and they narrowed on the plump object in the room.  “When’s that blasted moon coming, I’m tired of being so flat. I wanna sink my teeth into one of these toys.”  Phlegmdrake rolled his yellow eyes. “Remind me never to shadeskip with you again, you’ve got the patience of a piranha.” Grumpkin’s red eyes burned, turning the shadows under the little bed crimson. “...

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“The Bog Witch” by Brian Stanton

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #160

Frogs croak at sundown in the bogs. That’s when she took visitors. I heard their chorus and quickened my pace. Each high-knee step took me closer to her, but burned deeper into my thighs and abdomen. My feet grew more tender with each step. My pack was light, but two days traipsing through a swamp was enough to exhaust me. A week trekking down the mountain, and my bones hurt. My lungs burned too, like a hot coal singeing my insides. I reached for my canteen–the old stainless steel one I had plucked from the corpse of a long dead soldier...

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“The Manacrypts Memory” by Brian Stanton

Submitted to Contest #140

A Manacrypt’s Memory His storm clouds gathered overhead, becoming darker every hour, but it didn’t rain. They would be stronger this time, they needed to be. He wouldn’t waste a drop. “I don’t understand the beads,” The boy said, “why do you have so many of them?” Vyncis pretended not to notice the boy’s staring. He was used to it by now, and none of the caravanners he traveled with, not even the adults, were used to seeing manacrypts. Wizards, sure, but not manacrypts.  “They’re crypsis stones.” He said.  “Uh huh,” The boy cocked ...

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“Beneath the Brim of His Hat” by Brian Stanton

“Grow up.” Two words no young man wants to hear. When you're still growing into manhood any reminder that you haven’t yet arrived hurts. When your maturity or competency is called into question you get angry—defensive. And most of the time, there is nothing to be gained from the charge, well-intentioned or not.  But every once in a while, the command to grow up could be exactly what you needed to accept the call and crossover the threshold, if it's the right person who said it.      *** Roberto Ruiz Hidalgo wa...

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