George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

“Geography of the World ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #112

Content warning: trafficking, underage exploitationThe rain fell on him as he watched her drive away feeling like Humphrey Bogart on the runway in Casablanca As he watches Ingrid Bergman fly out of his life. There is a geography Of the world Just like he told her when they first met. There is a certain order of how things should be and everything has a place they belong.Rain has a way of washing out the stains left behind when there has been a disruption in the order of things.  She told him about her world, but he never under...

11 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Society of the Higher Order of the Lycanthrope ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #111

Catherine Mosby always suspected there was something quite unusual about her husband Elan, but she could never quite put her finger on it.  While a ne'er-do-well in the lower rings of London’s society, Elan had his sights set on moving up the ladder of his current social club since his business had a very profitable fiscal year.  She had heard he had made inquiries near Chelsea which made her hopeful that their fortunes would soon be on the upswing.   Elan did his best to keep her in the dark about his business and socia...

15 likes 4 comments 4

Read story

“Picking Up a Hitchhiker” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #110

September 1847  Middle of New Mexico Lost. I looked in all four directions, north, south, east and west and there was nothing anywhere as far as the eye could see. I pulled my rig over to the side of the road, if it was even a road at all. I knew I was screwed.  I did not need anyone to tell me that.   I was due at the army base at Alamogordo at oh-nine hundred hours to deliver whatever it was in the big barrels Hector had loaded in my trailer with the big old yellow stickers pasted on the sides with that strange b...

20 likes 1 comment 1

Read story

“Shamus MacFadden's Fiddle” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #108

Sometimes Colin Fergus would wake to the mournful sound of a fiddle.  He would try to ignore it, but sour old tune continued to rise in his head until it could no longer be ignored.  His memories were filled with images of his life on the Fergus Estate and of Dalton, West Virginia which his Aunt Lucy had told him to forget.  It was her own memories of that horrible place that haunted Lucille Amundsen.   It was a frigid October evening.  Colin awoke to the acrid aroma of smoke.  When he opened his eyes he s...

12 likes 1 comment 1

Read story

“Uncle Ken's Visit” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #107

He came to visit me when I was living in Gilbert, Arizona.  We had been in our house for almost six years with my son and daughter.  Attending Arizona State, I had gotten my teaching certificate and was working as a substitute teacher in three local school districts.  Earlier that year, he sent me a letter to say he was going to pay us a visit.  According to his letter, he would be coming in August. He had set the date for the second week in August and asked if I had time for a lengthy visit. I told him in my return lett...

18 likes 10 comments 10

Read story

“Adebowale Abacha ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

No one would guess the homeless man with skin darker than night was the son of once one of the most powerful men in Africa.  No one would guess that the man holding a sign with misspelled words and the poorly conjugated verbs attended Oxford University in England.  No one would guess that the man wearing sandals leaving his feet calloused, filthy, was once clothed in royal robes wrapped around his designer clothing and accessories. No one would guess the man who had trash and garbage thrown from open windows of passing vehicles had...

3 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“The Night They Shot Captain America ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #105

I was on duty at the precinct the night they shot Captain America. With over twenty years as a detective in various precincts in the general Portland, Oregon area, I have had a lot of serious matters come across my desk, but this one was special since I knew the parties involved.  It quickly became a personal matter.   I am Detective Rocco Mancini, swing shift supervisor. The 5 pm to midnight shift can be a very vigorous one since all the freaks come out at night as that old song suggests.  I do my best to keep things lo...

10 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“All the World's a Stage ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #104

She was amazing playing Blanche DuBois in Streetcar Named Desire.  I was the stage manager, but my main concern was staying out of the way of the cast in such a dark confined area.  Beth Zimmerman was as beautiful as she was talented.  Then one night, Beth Zimmerman smiled at me when I found her fan for the third act that had been misplaced on the prop table.  I could have melted on the spot. I joined the Tannanaw River Players about two years ago as a way to c0me out of my shell as one of the biggest introverts that has...

10 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“In Search of Sal Blumenthal” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #103

It’s always the same.  I am walking in this garden and there he is sitting on a bench reading poetry by Charles Bukowski.  As I pass, he reaches out and touches my hand very gently and says, “Excuse me, are you Sal Blumenthal?  I am Carl Kranz.” Problem, my name is Jarod Hipple, not Jacob Blumenthal. “Sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else.” I smile as his dark eyes open wider behind his round rimmed glasses as if I had said something to offend him.  The flowers become brittle.  A wind blows the pedals ...

15 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Where did Mr. Crestwell Come From ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #102

Where did Owen Crestwell come from?  Besides being an enigma, he was a complete recluse who lived in the old Tanner house where there was a horrible murder twenty years before I was born.  We were standing in the gymnasium waiting for Mr. Penrod to show up to begin PE class at Hester Hayden Middle School.  Huddled together we were discussing his sudden appearance in Willett Grove, Kansas.   My name is Horace Butler and I’ve lived in this one-horse town my entire life.  Up until now, this was the dullest place o...

10 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“The Strawberry Thief ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #101

TW: PTSD, war violence   Infuriating.  That’s what it is.  Bad enough there are plenty of wild animals to feast upon my garden, but it seems I have a human thief helping him or herself to my strawberries.  Even with my six foot chain link fence, I have a two legged thief who scales it and comes over after midnight to eat some of my strawberries. What can be done?  What can be done to discourage this thief from taking what is clearly not his, but does not heed barriers intended to keep him out of my acre and a half th...

9 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Silent Night at Broadsword Inn” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #100

Helga clean the tables in the dining room.  It was almost closing time and since it was Christmas Eve, she wanted to get home to her husband and three young children.  It had been a difficult few weeks as most of Iepers had been leveled by relentless artillery from both British, French and German guns.   Peter Van Dyken owned the century-old establishment, but some of the building had been damaged in the fourth battle between enemy forces.  This part of Flanders had been under constant siege or at least that’s what it see...

13 likes 3 comments 3

Read story

“Memory of a Long Journey ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Gabir Hamza turned sixty five surrounded by his three children and a dozen grandchildren when he blew the candles out in a great gust of wind like the Big Bad Wolf.  The grandchildren cheered wildly when the last candle went out on the massive cake that nearly covered their humble kitchen table.  Gabir favored coconut frosting over lemon cake so his wife Maya had one made at the bakery around the corner.  All of the people at the bakery like Gabir were from Lebanon and they loved Gabir’s lively spirit when he came into the sho...

1 like 0 comments 0

Read story

“Terrance Winlow Bridden's Premonition ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #98

No matter how he turned in his bed Terrance Winlow Bridden could not sleep.  His dreams were disturbed and interrupted by horrible visions of a disaster.   “Terry, it’s breakfast.” His mother called him as the servants had set the table for the morning meal.  He still had the horrible images from his nightmare swimming in his head.  His tennis lesson would begin promptly at nine with Mr. Cheevers on the tennis courts on the estate grounds.  His private tutor would follow at around ten, Mr. Jenkins was his name...

13 likes 1 comment 1

Read story

“Window of Lost Souls ” by George Georgerfrost@gmail.com

Submitted to Contest #97

About three months ago, my brother Wendell went off his medications.  A couple weeks later, he put the barrel of his revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger, because he could not take the voices anymore.  After his funeral, of which I was the only one in attendance, I came out there to Star Lake in the Adirondacks to chill out as they say.  The cabin that sits on the north shore of the lake has this window.  My first night in the cabin a full moon crossed the window casting silver light on the black water, creating ...

19 likes 2 comments 2

Read story