David G.

“Using” by David G.

CW: Mature themes, substance abuseHis name was Jerry. He had a profile on Grindr.The artist messaged.“Is it short for Gerald?” he typed out. Then he hit send and waited. He felt stupid for asking. It was too intimate for a first exchange.Finally, the answer came.“Jeremiah. I don’t usually tell people that.”“Nice to meet you, Jeremiah.”The artist scrolled yet again through the photos. They were amateurish, at best. Unattractive was a better description. A series of contrived sexy poses. Lips puckered, eyes batted. A hint of pubic hair peeking...

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“Sam Ben Andy Jake” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #103

“How about Crittenden Lane, Pop?” I ask, but by now I’ve lost hope.We’re driving aimlessly over the rolling hills on Route 23 in northwestern New Jersey looking for some sign that my Pop might recognize. But we may as well be wandering through a dark cave with a flashlight whose batteries are on their last few blips, the bulb flickering with increasing intermittency.“Does that name mean anything to you, Pop?” I ask again. “Does it ring any bells?”The purpose of our journey had seemed straightforward enough when we’d set out earlier this morn...

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“White Lobster” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #95

I like to search for treasures in the sand. I walk up and down the beach with my handheld metal detector and wave it back and forth, listening for beeps. It's soothing, and it gives me a chance to think.The metal detector was a gift from my wife, Sienna. She gave it to me for my fortieth birthday because she said I needed a hobby. She also hoped that maybe I'd find something valuable. Once in a while, it pays off. It's amazing how much jewelry people lose on the beach. Last Tuesday, I found two dollars and seventy-eight cents, a broken digit...

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“The Partygoers” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #93

The empty Pinot and Cabernet bottles clanked discordantly against the Formica countertop. He’d set them down harder than intended. She looked up from the pile of dirty dishes, startled. Professor Nick Garrett smiled at her sheepishly.“Must have been a good party,” he said to the younger woman standing at the sink next to the pile of chipped porcelain plates and soup bowls and wine glasses with lipstick stains around the edges. He took an unsteady step backwards and braced himself against the wall opposite the sink. “You don’t need to do that...

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“Cherry on Top” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #89

February 6, 2020“Every day in this place is like eating a big ol’ bowl of shit.”Jimmy looks at me when he says this, but really he’s talking to the guard who is getting ready to lock the heavy metal door to our two-man cell. It's Officer Beaudoin. Big fat creole guy from way out in the swamps south of New Orleans. I been down there once when I was a teenager. Not much difference between land and water far as I recall. His gut is hanging way out over his belt, Beaudoin's is, but he doesn't care one whit about that.Beaudoin rolls his eyes. He'...

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“Patron Saint Mickey” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #87

One. It was the most appropriate place to start anything, he figured. The loneliest number, not that he minded being alone. He struck the match and watched the red and black end spark to life. He inhaled deeply, taking pleasure in the chemical tinge of the first smoke. The flame swayed in the draft of the small front room in which he sat, as he did every Saturday evening at seven o’clock sharp, the television tuned to channel Four WZRY. Outside his window the wind whipped the branches of the big oak tree. He held his hand around the flame an...

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“Cucumbers and Mochaccinos” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #85

“The thing that almost nobody knows about the cucumber is that it's a fruit."That's what Midge Johnston liked to tell her neighbors when she dropped off a basket of the dark green and still-spiny foot-long beauties. Her garden produced far too many for her and Henry to eat on their own, no matter how many salads they made or jars they pickled. She would watch her neighbors’ expressions as they processed the new information. “No,” they would say in disbelief, followed by, “I always knew that about tomatoes, because everyone thinks they’re veg...

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“Nothing Beside Remains” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #82

Author's Note: This is an homage to the poem "Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe ShelleyAmidst a flurry of multi-colored laser displays and droning bass notes, Oswald “Ozzy” Mondias strode confidently across the main stage and stood behind the podium, clicker in hand. A thousand flash bulbs held aloft by paparazzi and assorted tech and financial journalists popped in rapid succession. He posed, turning his gaze slightly upward and pouting his lips as he'd been coached to do by the publicists and consultants and makeup artists that surrounded him at...

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“Just Yet” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #81

Shaker Heights, OH, 1968 and Gaithersburg, MD, 2020 “Don’t go just yet,” she whispered into his ear. “I’m not ready to be without you.”Her head rested on his bare chest, still narrow and smooth with youth. She ran her fingers along his stomach, toward the top edge of the blanket, which lay loosely around his waist. She sniffled as a tear fell from her cheek. He gently stroked her thick, wavy brown hair, the nape of her neck, the space between her shoulder blades. A slim slant of light from the hallway made a streak along the ceiling and...

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“Tinkerers” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #79

I talked to my Paw today. He was in an old General Electric refrigerator at the bottom of the abandoned quarry. It was just about perfect – the refrigerator. Not too banged up. Good quality rolled steel and aluminum door and frame. It was exactly what I needed to contain the signal. I’m lucky to have found it, especially this long after the Great Reset.The quarry is just a couple miles up the road. The forest has grown around it, the quarry, and the service trail is mostly gone, cover'd in weeds and mulberry trees and the like. You gotta' kn...

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“An Imperfect Circle” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #78

“Don’t hesitate."The voice comes from across the green cloth-draped folding table where I am seated at the Twenty-Third Annual Freehand Circle Drawing World Championship with my head down and my shoulders hunched forward in a pointed I'm-very-busy posture.I wince. Now is not the time. I need to practice, get my head in the right space, concentrate on the task at hand. This is something I've been working towards. It matters.Even without this latest distraction, conditions are sub-optimal. It’s too cold in the room. The AC chortles and hums an...

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“Pirouette” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #77

It takes a discerning eye to see the difference between ground and sky, to make out the thin horizon, to distinguish between the shades of white and off white and pale grey, to locate the subtle break where the frozen lake meets the snowy banks and then bleeds into the featureless, uninterrupted clouds. The eye of someone who has grown up in northern Minnesota or some similar place where winter descends in late-September and holds tight until early-May, if you’re lucky. I used to be that person with that eye. Now I stand on the brink, disori...

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“Favorite Animals” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #76

“Hey, Daddy?”“Yeah, buddy?”“Are we almost at the cementry?”“Cemetery. We’ll be there soon, I hope. There’s just a lot of traffic.”“I don’t want to go there. I'm not ready.”“…”“Because it’s going to be too sad.”“I know, buddy. I don’t want to go either. But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do and that make us sad.”“…”“…”"..."“Hey, Daddy?”“Yeah, buddy?”“Can you look at me for a second?”“Not right now. I’m trying to merge.”“What’s merge mean?”“I’m trying to get over.”“…”“You gonna’ let me in? No? Thanks a lot, guy.”“…”“…”“Hey, Da...

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“The Caregiver” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #75

Irving Fisher was agitated.“Who the hell are you?" he yelled. "And what the hell are you doing here?”He squinted his cataract-occluded eyes, the pupils darted between the television set against the far wall and the face of the woman towering over him as he lay in his mechanical bed, the top half of which was inclined slightly. The blue cotton blanket and pillows he had thrown to the ground in a fit of frustration or pique of rage at some adversary or enemy, real or imagined. His legs were exposed, hairless and marked with thin, twisting blue...

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“Rapture in a Parking Lot” by David G.

Submitted to Contest #74

At precisely six o’clock in the afternoon on May 21, 2011, Walter "Walt" Barston Jr., fifty-two-years-old and of no fixed address, stood in the crowded parking lot of KQRZ 89.7 FM in Oakland, California, his arms aloft in the shape of a ‘V’, palms skyward, head tilted back, eyes closed.He wore loose-fitting, pleated and cuffed blue jeans held up with a worn black leather belt. His white tee shirt was stretched tight over his distended belly and imprinted with large, block letters with the question, “Have You Heard the Awesome News?” On his f...

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