Joe Swanson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Oct, 2020

Stories (280)

280 Stories

3972 karma pts

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“Height of Ambition” by Joe Swanson

     What we are, and what we are not, may come down to our perception of a line on a door jamb. Not just any line, but one dedicated to recording our growth, maturity, freedom. It allows us to forgive childhood while giving us counterfeit credentials to move beyond where we have been wished to remain.      There is no end to demarcation between the past and a future, as it is an arbitrary illusion attributed by others with no specified intent, but leaves a perception of impene...

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“Seeds of Time” by Joe Swanson

    “Whatcha doing?”     “Planting seeds for a future.”     “Why?”     “Why What?”     “Why plant seeds for a future?”     The questions of my young neighbor caused me to think about the future; his and mine. Three generations ago most people didn’t have a car, refrigeration, electricity, or the majority of the medical advances we enjoy today. The exponential growth in technology, science, agriculture, has allowed...

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“Third Rock From the Left” by Joe Swanson

Feb. 18 It started today. I watched as they came down the road, the tanks, troop trucks. Some didn’t believe they’d dare come. What would be the purpose? And yet here they are.  Feb. 20 I had planned for such an event. I pay attention to things.  It was all evident, even if you just believed what the papers said. There is a distrust of news because it has been so distorted by hope, but it only disguises the truth, not erases it. We chose not to believe because it is easier, less painful. Less...

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“Growing Up” by Joe Swanson

"Grow up!" words marching across time to invade my fading memory.     Physical fitness is a growing concern. More hours are spent daily on our phones, lap tops, and doing just about anything but moving. We have become a society of viewers, not doers.      I am not attempting to remove myself from the majority of us who do not get enough physical exercise, and pay the price for not doing so. I have to date been fortunate; I do not have any serious illnesses attributed to being overwe...

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“Shadow Land” by Joe Swanson

    When I pulled the box from the closet, I did so with the trepidation of a frightening story I had as yet to know the ending of. The clothes the box contained belonged to Emeril, a neighbor boy. His mother had asked if my son could use them. My son is the same age as Emeril was when he disappeared.      “You might as well have them if they will be of any use to you. When he comes home he will certainly have grown out of them. Please take them if you can use them. I...

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“Sunset Boulevard” by Joe Swanson

     “Do you believe heaven to be a state of mind?”     I most certainly did. I don’t speak of my intuitiveness often, for it gives one what I believe, an aura of arrogance, that remains with others for far too long after they have gone. A lasting impression is something everyone aspires too, and I have as yet to discover why.    Everything in my opinion is better, more mystical, authentic, artistic, when imagined than when observed in its physical form. The...

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“The Existential Yard” by Joe Swanson

    When Ezekiel Klingenstein woke that morning he had no idea his life would be changed forever. He slipped from the warmth of his bed, put on his robe, searched in vain with his foot for his slippers, headed down the stairs into the hall and out the front door, where his morning paper was expected to be. It was not on the porch, and not in the bushes by the porch. He stepped down the two steps to the ground, turned, looking into the morning sun he squinted as he surveyed the roof for his newspaper. &...

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“The Last Picnic” by Joe Swanson

    I thought it to be a good idea at the time. A surprise, not the normal jump out of the bush surprise, but something out of character, not for her, but me. I’m not one for grandiose displays of, well everything, but it was her birthday and it was the first nice day in a while. Even though it was July, it felt like spring. Why, I have no idea, but then sometimes something gives us that push; it might be stupidity, or love, but we do something no one would expect us doing, a picnic.   &...

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“Rembrandt Slept Here” by Joe Swanson

    “I want you to go to sleep.” I listen and attempt to understand their demand, but no matter how many times I ask, why, I receive no answer.     I understand. I’ve felt like not answering questions at times myself. There is something about giving into power you cannot control, that is disturbing. Control is all we have to remind us of who we are. Control anchors us in the reality that surrounds us. Being here, surrounded by so many who have lost that control and now flo...

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“Illusional Plain” by Joe Swanson

    “Where are we going,” she asks squeezing my hand. I don’t know how to answer. I’ve never done anything like this before. Why now? I don’t know that either. It could be the constant drone of news, mostly bad. Bombed daily by news that steals what little hope is left.     “We are going to Armageddon,” I reply as she smiles without looking at me, knowing the truth can be told in many ways; but lies?    “Where is Armageddon, and why are we goi...

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“I Regret” by Joe Swanson

    “I regret that I have but one life to give for my country.” The infamous line of words that conjures from the past the ghosts of those that have sacrificed themselves in vain. Their screams from the trenches attempting to remind us of past failures propagated by the arrogance and power of those who play at being God.#     I sit on the cold wet ground, my back against a dirt wall that follows an irregular path, and then is gone. My legs stretch towards the root infused wall oppos...

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“ Many Pots” by Joe Swanson

The problem with memory is that it is not as truthful as we believe it to be, want it to be, nor as prophetic. I’ve had dreams where I outran the Devil, and everyone knows that can’t be done. You can’t outrun a mystical figure contrived to keep us in line, civilized. If you could, everyone would be doing it, and where would that leave the collection plates?Don’t get me wrong, God has a place, just as we do. Pretending though that it’s God’s will that makes our lives what they are, is abandoning the principles that we proc...

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“What It Is” by Joe Swanson

    “Love anyone ever?”    “I don’t know. I don’t really know what love is. Do you?”    The type of question I’m sure has been asked over the millennium and the answer no doubt is different for everyone.     “Do you ever think about the past, things you loved, people you loved, dogs you loved? Ice Cream?" #    Loves from my past? I am not sure I could say anything about love in the present, let alone the past. Love is a ter...

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“Wilbur” by Joe Swanson

    Saint Wilbur was one of the lost boys. Not one of Peter Pan’s boys, but a boy who was literally lost. How he became lost no one was sure, and if they had to be honest would confess to the fact, they did not care. Many of the people in the town of Jerome were considered to be found, and would have traded their monotonous safety for Wilbur’s condition, gladly.    Wilbur was not sure why they called him a saint, but when he sought the reason, no one was around, so there was no one to as...

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“In the Sky With Diamonds” by Joe Swanson

    “And the rains came.” A lyric from an old song. Maybe not a lyric, more like a tellers recollection of events. It reminds me of that day in June it began to storm.     The weather prediction was for rain, some heavy, hit and miss. The nebulous predictions that we are exposed to daily. We let them pass without comment as their assurance is never absolute, as they can’t be, the weather being the unpredictable entity that it is.     That particula...

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