Christine Johnson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2019

Stories (20)

20 Stories

405 karma pts

?

“A Corrugated Dismissal” by Christine Johnson

I wonder if I should take the stapler or is it theirs? After near twenty years, I am not sure where the laws of personal property delineate between ownership through purchase and ownership through usage. And paperclips. Are they inventoried? Will they come after me if the wire basket is short a few? I have never been fired before so I am not exactly sure what is the proper protocol for packing up my desk. ...

3 comments 3
Read story

“The Ageless Bliss of Defying Gravity” by Christine Johnson

They both reluctantly opened the car door and stepped outside into the warm winter sun on the cold day. While the weather for February was not frigid, it was still cold enough that she could see his long exhales plume and evaporate and hear his boots crunch the new snow covering the parking lot. He grabbed her padded nylon-covered hand as they headed to the entrance.   She smiled at his gesture believing ...

0 comments 0
Read story

“Traction” by Christine Johnson

I stare at the hardened molded plastic and metal glad I cannot see the wires inside that make the treadmill smarter than me. Its lights recognize me and encourage me to step onto the deck and take the belt for a spin. It can’t talk, but if it could it would want to know what the hell happened to my visits. “Thought the couch kidnapped you.” “You look thicker and sad.” The t...

5 comments 5
Read story

“Dangling the Dough” by Christine Johnson

I stared at his flannel shirt. He looked much younger than his eighty-six years. His mind however far exceeded his age to the point most of his memories were locked deep in his brain as to open the way for rare moments of clarity. His moments of presence had lessened lately. Maybe that’s why my sister and my brothers visit him less. And maybe why I visit him more. The journey with my grandfather started y...

0 comments 0
Read story

“The Crier’s White Handkerchief” by Christine Johnson

Crestwood sits one cracked blacktop road away from the state route that connects the town to the six-lane freeway. Labeled a “sleepy town” by those in the big city, Dewayne considers the town a napping community with enough action to keep the locals lively, but enough quiet to take a nap on a hammock in the yard. The tavern on North Street holds an all you can eat fish fry and dollar beer steins once a month. And every S...

4 comments 4
Read story

“The Harmony of Shall and Will” by Christine Johnson

I sit by the phone and wait for it to ring. I have never done this before. Who rings me anyway? My friends text or snap me. My parents know it is worthless to call me because I will not answer even if they call me five times in a row. If they text, I will respond immediately. Now I am at the mercy of my cell phone’s ring tone to find out whether or not I received a full scholarship to the University five days before I am...

2 comments 2
Read story

“Her Side of the Ring” by Christine Johnson

I thought she would have proposed last week. Her family threw a seventy-fifth birthday party for her uncle. Over hundred in attendance. Everyone was there, including my parents. Loriann excels at working the crowd, not afraid of being the center of attention. I was positive she would propose on the lawn in front of the tent-covered dance floor as darkness rose. After I said yes, we would be welcomed with...

0 comments 0
Read story

“Feigning Tales” by Christine Johnson

He arrives at the bench early, sitting about six inches to the left of the sun shade line. He measures his wait by how many times he has to scoot further to the left before his departure. He did not need to come out as early as he did. He knew it only increased the uneasy feeling that flowed through his belly, but the longer he remained close to the bathroom, the more he wanted to throw up. He had done hi...

0 comments 0
Read story

“Simple Odds” by Christine Johnson

The sun blazes down on the blacktop outside your garage. You stand with your hand in a lowered salute to cover your eyes from the brightness of the rays. You turn your head to survey the cramped hatch of your SUV. A checklist of the contents secured under a clip board’s claw. You feel like Santa checking the list not only once but twice. No one wants to be without a key element when executing a marriage proposal. 

0 comments 0
Read story

“Bookmarks” by Christine Johnson

His name is misspelled on his headstone. I notice this as I stand at his grave for the first time since the funeral. Over a year ago I stood near this same spot as my dad’s casket was lowered into the ground. I didn’t think I would ever be able to move from the spot. It was the closest I would ever be to my dad. My aunt had to lead me by the hand to the car so I could be one of the guests of honor at the memorial luncheon. I don’t remember walking or getting in the car or arriv...

2 comments 2
Read story

“The Widow’s Web” by Christine Johnson

Words are hard to say when you realize your beloved white porcelain cat figurine with green gem eyes has disappeared. I live by myself since my husband died four years past, I don’t know who could have taken it.Maybe it was one of my live furballs? Dizzy dangles her tail lower today, a sure sign of guilty suspicion. Mabel, the tabby, loves to cuddle, but she stays away at this hour. I watch the shrewd scavenger burrow herself into every cushion and pillow only to reappear the moment I start to suspect she has su...

0 comments 0
Read story

“Painting Lessons” by Christine Johnson

I turn off the lights and lock the lobby door to J. Lewis & Sons Accounting Services. It’s only eighteen minutes after five on a Friday afternoon and I am the only fool who hasn’t started the weekend festivities of soaking in the long-missed sunshine. In downtown Chicago, we know how to celebrate a mild and sunny spring day in April because they arrive few and far between. At least, I think it’s warm out. I check the weather app on my phone. Sixty degrees with no wind. A stellar day for most, but I...

2 comments 2
Read story

“Autocorrect” by Christine Johnson

I order a glass of pinot noir and wait for Todd to arrive. It seems strange that he wants to have dinner together after our New Year’s Eve break-up.“It’s not fun anymore,” he had said as we watched the Times Square ball drop on a friend’s television. I had never been so grateful to live in the central time zone.  At least my new year wouldn’t start with a break up. It would only end with one.“I need some space.”His last spoken words to me then and well, still now. He texted me last week....

4 comments 4
Read story

“Leftovers” by Christine Johnson

I turn down the flame on the burner. The foaming hot pasta water has begun to run down the sides of the pot. I love the sizzling sounds of the water hitting the stove grates, but hate the white residue mess I will have to clean up later. Tonight’s tubular mostaccioli noodles need more time to cook than my usual angel hair strands.I hear the crew moving about the house. I could complain that my house is thirty years old and needs a remodel, but I do not want to change the rhythm of the house. Definitely not today...

2 comments 2
Read story

“Absolute Value” by Christine Johnson

As the morning fog bobbed over the small downtown district, Kate stopped by the French market and cafe on Main for her to-go order before starting her twenty-mile Sunday journey. Two warm croissants protecting gently folded eggs and crispy mesquite-smoked bacon. One with Swiss and one with cheddar for her and Chloe. Two identical large coffees, cream only.Even though the breakfast would arrive barely warm and coffees cold, Kate needed the breakfast to balance of the chaos their current relationship. Friendship n...

0 comments 0
Read story

Author bio

Biz professional pursuing my dream of writing. Genre-challenged and working my way through the buffet writing of opportunities. Found that I love writing short stories.

Shortlisted 2 stories ⭐️

Contest #27
Track Therapy – read story
Contest #22
Winter Gardening – read story