Michael Jefferson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Feb, 2022

Stories (140)

140 Stories

2695 karma pts

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“You Left Me Behind” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #184

Dell Creason looks around the infield, focusing on Hobey Clarke, his third baseman. He intuitively knows that in 1974, only four years away, Hobey will die in a skiing accident. Dell wants to tell him, but he believes nothing can change Hobey’s destiny. Dell goes into his windup, striking out his eleventh batter. The crowd cheers, responding to his pitching a no-hitter and a perfect game as well, something an eight-year-old shouldn’t do. Fifteen little leaguers have come to the plate and eleven have struck out. News of what Dell is doing ...

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“The Beer Sitter” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #183

“Man, even the I.R.S. would laugh at my bank account,” Casey Cassidy laments as he checks The Mean Fiddler’s receipts for a second time. The forty-three-year-old restaurant owner runs his hand through his generous mop of dark hair, worrying how much longer it will be before it starts falling out. Wiping his sauce-covered hands on his smock, Cisco Soto comes out of the kitchen. The wall-eyed cook looks at Casey apprehensively. “We makin’ any money, boss?” “We’re so far in the red I should be callin’ you comrade.” “So, no?” “We’re an Irish...

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“I’m Getting Pretty Tired of Getting Knocked Out” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #182

The slot machines seem to clang “goodbye, sucker” in unison as Chick Goldsby stumbles toward the casino’s exit. He nearly plows into a cocktail waitress. The stunning blonde gives him a bright smile, saying, “Tough night?” “The house always wins.” Reaching into her costume, the waitress hands him a silver dollar. “It’s lucky. It helps make empty lives worth living.” “Great, I’ve lost my girl, and my motivation and the real estate market in Nevada is tanking,” Chick replies. “It’s a pleasure receiving a gift from a woman whose beauty riv...

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“Drop That Dwarf” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #181

The annoying ring of the telephone stirs Vanessa Akin from her sleep. She curses under her breath as her husband, Trey, rolls over, groaning. “Well, are you going to get that?” she asks. “You know it’s for you.” Trey reaches for the phone, nearly knocking it off the end table. Smiling apologetically at Vanessa, he wonders when she’d cut her luxurious midnight black hair into a bob or when the circles under her once sparkling eyes had begun to dominate her looks. Glancing down at his stomach, he ponders where the extra pounds he’s carrying ...

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“Heads I Win, Tails You Lose” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #180

Town of Torrington Wyoming Territory 1882 Gower Gaston races down the sidewalk, his boots clomping against the sidewalk’s wooden planks, his spurs jingling out a frenzied beat. Rushing through the door of the Marshal’s office, the tousle-haired young deputy points at the cover of his dime novel shouting, “It’s him! It’s The Preacher!” Marshal Myles Gaston adjusts his specs, looking at the cover of “Say Your Prayers… The Preacher’s Coming,” which depicts a well-dressed dandy brandishing a pair of smoking pearl-handled guns. The pair step o...

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“Everyday is Christmas” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #178

“Whooo hooo!” Mark Malarky exclaims, the six vodka tonics in his system making his feet lighter than air. The well-dressed bank loan officer nearly stumbles into a petite, bundled up woman staffing a Salvation Army red kettle. She rings her bell loudly next to his ear. “Must you do that?” “Just making sure you’re awake, buddy. You almost crashed into my kettle.” “Heaven forbid I knock over your pot,” Mark slurs. “Now, if you had some stew in there, or some clam chowder…” “It’d be a waste on you, buddy. You’d just puke it back up. You’v...

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“God May Be Tone Deaf But I’m Not” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #177

Connor Crosswhite flashes a toothy grin as he passes Hattie the receptionist, who puffs up her posture hoping the rock god will notice her. Whipping off his sunglasses, the tanned, trim, thirty-three-year-old Brit-born lead singer of the band THC breezes into Rollin’ Records’ conference room like a swashbuckling pirate. “Well, if it ain’t his nibs,” Amp Steele, the group’s bass player teases. “How’re things in paradise?” “Living in Monaco is like being in Disney World every day.” “Wouldn’t know, mate,” Amp replies. “My checks are much sm...

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“The Purple Scourge” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #176

Colette, Calisto’s seventeen-year-old apprentice, straddles Mazie, Castle Hogue’s prize pig. “Hold her steady,” the young magician says, waving a bowl in front of Mazie. Grunting, the oversized pig licks at the contents of the bowl. “All right, release her.” Colette steps away from Mazie, giggling as the pig wanders drunkenly around her pen. “Looks like your potion packs a punch,” the attractive brunette says. “The question is, will it work?” Mazie suddenly nosedives into the mud, dead. “Well, we know it kills,” Calisto says. The pai...

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“Mr. Charm and Mr. Scrambled Eggs” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #175

Blake Best skillfully spoons a hefty portion of scrambled eggs onto a veteran’s plate. “Thank you for that.” “What?” “Giving me a little extra.” “You look like you could use it today, Terry,” Blake says. “You keeping up with your appointments?” “Yes, sir. I go to an AA meeting every afternoon. Tomorrow I’m goin’ for my glasses. Thanks again for settin’ that up. You’re a good man, Blake. This place used to be empty. Since you were made liaison to the Director, this place has become the top vet’s club in the county.” “How about some bac...

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“The Brawl For It All” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #174

Eric Monarch chafes at the first question. “Shouldn’t this fight have taken place five years ago when both fighters were in their prime?” The promotor grins, the jewel in his front tooth gleaming against the lights, his spikey grey hair standing straight up like a forest of exclamation points He is not about to let his press conference get out of hand. “I should have married Christina Hendricks five years ago, but she wasn’t available. You gotta do these fights when the warrior's schedules free up. Carlos Madrid, ‘The Lion of the Pro...

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“By the Colour of Your Dreams” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #173

Lyric Bass blows the steam off her mochaccino. “Are you still looking for the right song for your advertising campaign?” Brice Bass closes the lid of his laptop. Taking off his glasses, he rubs his tired eyes. “Yeah, nothing seems to fit.” “What about Derry Dalrymple’s ‘By the Colour of Your Dreams?’ Great song. Great album. It’s very sentimental and sad yet uplifting at the same time. I think it fits because you’re selling the idea of a theme park where fantasies come true.” Brice’s boyish features brighten. “That’s perfect! And I love...

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“Achtung, Baby” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #172

One sentence, “Will you marry me?” might have made me a happy, responsible man. Unfortunately, at the time I should have said it, I was hardly responsible and more horndog than man. I got swept up in the false image of being a player who walked into bars with three or four stunning nannies on his arm. I wanted all of them, but I really only needed one - Ilka. Now, thirty years later, I’m alone, unable to remember the sound of her voice or the touch of her hand. The irony is we never should have met in the first place. I was forty-four...

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“The Bedford Cross” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #171

Vince Stafford’s eyes welled up with tears as he looked at the photos, wilted flowers, trinkets, and waterlogged sympathy cards gathered around The Bedford Cross. The twenty-five-foot cross had been erected in 1956 on a large traffic island that separated South Bedford Road and Route 119. The Cross memorialized the dozens of lives lost or ruined there. Vince cried because he knew too many of them. Drivers heading north were often lulled into a false sense of safety by the picturesque trees that lined South Bedford Road, especially in the f...

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“Let Me Be Your Dog” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #170

The stocky, fortyish Black man walked toward the elderly couple. Regina Beckwith smiled neighborly at him. Checking her watch, she let out a hearty laugh. “Ten-thirty on the nose,” she said. Barton, her husband of fifty years, grinned placidly. “Yep. Right on schedule. I swear I can set my watch by you.” Starling Coyle took great pleasure and pride in compartmentalizing every aspect of his life, beginning with his morning walk through the Dobbs Ferry Town Park. Starling had no family and he liked it that way. His mother had been a bitte...

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“Shadow on My Wall” by Michael Jefferson

Submitted to Contest #169

The floor in the living room creaks, catching Aaron’s attention.            Aaron turns to face the shadow on the wall behind him, saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was followed.”            Aaron sinks into a crouch in a darkened corner of the bedroom. He reaches in his jacket for the gun he left on the dining room table. His favorite softball bat will have to do.            T...

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