Mike Garrigan

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Aug, 2019

Stories (56)

56 Stories

948 karma pts

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“Tongue” by Mike Garrigan

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #24

I had been walking in the desert for what seemed like days. I was thirsty. My radiator went kaput somewhere on I-10 last night. No cell reception out here. The desert night comforted me—beautiful stars and comet trails. But after the sun rose, the temperature shot up far too quickly. By the time the sun was directly overhead, my legs felt like rubber and my tongue was swollen. In the distance, what looked like a town from the Old West arose. One dirt road split two rows of shabby buildings. “Water,” I said out loud to myself. I blinked ...

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“Warning Signs” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #23

“I can’t see, Elaine. I’m pulling over,” I said. “What the . . . Why is it snowing?” Elaine said.Elaine had been texting, surfing the web, checking Facebook, on Twitter, and adding to her Instagram story since I had offered her a ride home fifteen minutes ago. When she gets on social media, it’s like she has horse blinders on. I mean, she didn’t even notice when it started snowing five minutes ago. The light snow had compounded quickly into a blizzard.“When did they call for snow?” Elaine said.“I don’t think they did,” I said. “Shi...

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“MacLunkey” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #22

“What do you want to do for New Year’s, Ollie?” Sara said.“I don’t celebrate New Year’s, love,” Oliver said as he flipped the end of his silver cufflink. “Really? Why not?”“It’s all silliness if you ask me,” Oliver said. “I think it’s kind of fun. You get together with your friends, have a few drinks, and do the big countdown. How’s that silly?” Sara said.“People drink way too much on New Year’s. Alcohol related automobile accidents increase by over 70% between six and midnight on New Year’s Eve. You’re asking for trouble if you’re...

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“Bad Apples” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #21

“Kashmir” played over the house speakers. My mind drifted to the streets of Marrakesh, a place I had never been. The heat, the vendors, and the bodies there, squashed together, probably smelled worse than the bar I tended. But how would I know? I’ve never been anywhere. The Christmas lights brightened the often low lit pub. Gossamer’s wasn’t the kind of place you drank at if you wanted to be seen. With the lights out, it’s less dangerous — at least, that’s what Cobain will say over the JBLs before the night is through. I trust him. So w...

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“Alison Park” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #20

A dolphin swam along side the Arcturus. He peeked his left eye up at Sara, winked, and then flipped away into the brine. “Did you see that, Ollie?” Sara said. Oliver stood erect with his hands behind his back. The bow of the Arcturus was three feet wide. Oliver stood in the bow, feet shoulder width apart, and stared at Waiheke Island in the distance. “Ollie, did you see the dolphin?” Sara said.“Yes. They are quite magnificent,” Oliver said over the crashing water. His voice cut through the surf, salt, and sea. The sides o...

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“Relax” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #19

The day after my vasectomy, Diane bounced through the door with a copy of Norman Dacey’s How to Avoid Probate. That afternoon, while I convalesced at home with a bag of frozen peas, she went to an estate planning luncheon. “We can set up a living trust and save tons of money!” she said. “Prostate?” I asked.“Probate, silly,” she said. $5,000 later, we had this huge binder of incomprehensible documents. Diane was a runner. I liked that she had her own thing apart from us. She did races all the time. Sometimes, they’d be in ...

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“Odd Naphthalene” by Mike Garrigan

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #18

Walking through the thrift store, I ran my fingers along the secondhand jackets. A navy blue wool jacket hid matching slacks inside its cover. A subdued flannel blazer reminded me of Christmas. A gray herringbone sport jacket whispered undisclosed panache.I bought the herringbone. While it diminished this morning’s t-shirt coffee stains, the jacket smelled like an odd naphthalene, like moth balls. As I rambled home, I admired the jacket’s meticulous weave. I peeked inside the jacket’s front chest pocket. For a moment, I thought the prev...

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“Cuts” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #17

My mother sliced the turkey’s breast with the Ginsu knife that my father bought for her last Christmas. A Ginsu knife can cut through a tin can like butter. Last year, on that Christmas morning, right after she ripped open the wrapping paper and saw what Dad had given her, she said, “Oh, Phil, you must trust me!” Dad had a good laugh. Mom sipped her Bloody Mary and gave my dad a look, one that I can only describe as “Ick.” While carving the turkey, my mother paused and took a sip of wine. My father sat at then end of the table, his fing...

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“Ekeko” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #16

“Don’t step there!” Meg said. “C’mon, Meg,” Jess said. When they started the dig, Jess didn’t mind Meg’s attention to detail. But now, three weeks in, Meg’s meticulousness was working Jess’s nerves.  “We have to do this right,” Meg said.  Jess paused and chose her words wisely. “Ok,” she said. Sometimes Meg had a point. They were high in the Andes and deep in a cave with a large drop off into what looked like a bottomless abyss below. Meg had placed safety ropes along the edge of the chasm. Every morning, Jess threw ...

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“Banana Bread” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #15

IUnderneath the malodorous melange of Barley’s Biker Bar, D’Artagnan smelled a waft of armpits. He opened his leather vest a little, just to make sure it wasn’t him. It wasn’t. Barley’s just kinda smelled like that. Over the past year, Barley’s Biker Bar had become an every night thing for D’Artagnan. But he didn’t crank his Harley ninety miles each way every night so that he could take part in Barley’s regular raucous din. He didn’t really care for the nightly bullshit contests and abject stupidity that infected the place. He didn’t ev...

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“Sub Silentio” by Mike Garrigan

Submitted to Contest #14

The mid-70s Plymouth Duster idled at the McDonald’s drive-thru with three cars stacked ahead of it in the queue. Jeff sat in the passenger seat. He broke into a cold sweat.“We could have gone to the North Pier Mickey D’s, but this one has better fries. They probably change the fry oil more often, you know. Then again, North Pier has colder soda. Something about the ice, I guess,” Roger said from the driver’s seat. “Hey, you alright kid?”Jeff shook his head and said, “Oh, yeah, sure, I’m just a little hot.”Roger rolled down his window, n...

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Author bio

Lawyer by day. Musician by night. Writer on the weekend.

Shortlisted 4 stories ⭐️

Contest #32
Waiting for Manny – read story
Contest #27
Royal Orleans – read story
Contest #24
Tongue – read story
Contest #18
Odd Naphthalene – read story