David G.

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2020

Stories (25)

25 Stories

1491 karma pts

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“Cherry on Top” by David G.

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 do...

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“Patron Saint Mickey” by David G.

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 hel...

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“Cucumbers and Mochaccinos” by David G.

“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, bec...

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“Nothing Beside Remains” by David G.

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 ...

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“Just Yet” by David G.

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...

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“Tinkerers” by David G.

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 th...

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“An Imperfect Circle” by David G.

“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, conditi...

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“Pirouette” by David G.

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...

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“Favorite Animals” by David G.

“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.”...

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“The Caregiver” by David G.

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 expos...

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“Rapture in a Parking Lot” by David G.

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 Aw...

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“The Bird and Me” by David G.

Across my five-hundred-ten square foot apartment on the twenty-third floor of an early-1980s utilitarian building at the southern end of the Bronx come a few staccato chirps and whistles of the American goldfinch that now resides with me. His name is Charlie.I open my eyes. I'm in bed. On the ceiling above me there is a faint crack in the plaster. It starts about an inch from the wall straight above my right shoulder and then winds its way in a jagged pattern toward the center of the room, where it disappears briefly beh...

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“How to Visit an Inmate at the Coxsackie Correctional Facility” by David G.

When traffic is light, the drive to the Coxsackie Correctional Facility takes two hours and eighteen minutes. In the early spring, the view north as you pull onto the Henry Hudson Bridge can be disorienting. The grey of the city with its still-melting mounds of snow piled high in the corners of municipal parking lots and along street curbs replaced, suddenly, with a seemingly endless landscape of first-bud forests. It will look like the greenest green you have ever seen. You will follow Route 9A to the Saw Mill Parkway, which t...

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“Le Grand Biscuit” by David G.

As it so happened, the fate of the small village situated on the bank of a forlorn and mostly dry riverbed was sealed on a dreary and otherwise quite unremarkable December afternoon. It was the Assistant Deputy Treasurer who sealed it, although, in fairness, it was not his fault. He was only doing his job. And his intentions were good.In the precise center of this particular village sat the municipal building, an ashen grey, squat, two-story structure whose marquee had recently fallen askew. The building was crumbling pr...

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“Knobby Knuckles” by David G.

When had his knuckles gotten so knobby?They didn’t used to be this way - his knuckles. He was sure of that. There was definitely a time when the skin was smooth and taut over the joints, the lines thin and shallow.Now the bone protruded sharply beyond the fleshy parts. An old man’s hands. Deep creases wove between pink and white splotches, winding their way to his palms where they zigged and zagged, combining in places and separating in others like tributaries in an ancient river delta. On the fourth fi...

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Author bio

Father of two. Husband. Bureaucrat. I wrote a 95,000 word novel. Maybe I'll read it one day. Winning Stories: Mahalo King Cod Filet Shortlisted: Knobby Knuckles Vampire Lawn Care Miracle and Grace

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