Nicholas Castine

“My Father the Fish” by Nicholas Castine

Submitted to Contest #115

We’re all addicts. Take a man’s television and on any given Sunday he’ll fill your ears with a booze filled racist tirade. Take away a teenager’s phone and you’ll see the same animal. Take a poor man’s last sip of soup or last morsel of hamburger that he scrounged from a McDonald’s dumpster and you’ll find yourself bleeding in an alleyway, teeth marks freckling your arms. Take away a little boy’s XBox and you’ll hear th...

10 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“A Certain Shade of Green” by Nicholas Castine

Saturday, 15 July, 1944 Dear Westy, Tonight at seven o’clock there was a knock at the door. Almira and I were listening to the radio in the living room as we always did while mother prepared dinner for the family. It was another long day of school for the both of us. I hadn’t imagined that Almira’s warnings of the difficulty the new school brought were anything but the fan...

4 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“The Three Inches Beneath Him” by Nicholas Castine

Submitted to Contest #112

The first one landed with a splat face down in the drying mud. It had rained the night before, a downpour, but the skies weren’t satisfied with the damage done. The second one landed not far from the first, face up, witnessing the cloud of men falling to their deaths for a moment before he died himself. I took cover underneath the church entryway. People rushed from the sidewalks to the stores, some of them being crushed...

7 likes 0 comments 0

Read story

“Black, Violet, Green, then Yellow” by Nicholas Castine

Submitted to Contest #111

Ten years of sleep will make you cold. The liquid nitrogen sees to that. It cools your bones, muscles, and mind. It was clear to her that there was a connection between heat and memory. She lay on the aluminum table trying to understand the questions the doctors asked her, but she was too cold, her memories hadn’t yet thawed.  “Mrs. Trudell, do you remember anything from your time before?” a doctor aske...

19 likes 3 comments 3

Read story

“Monochromatic” by Nicholas Castine

Submitted to Contest #110

I asked him why we couldn't shoot doe and he told me it's because they were mothers. Without them the fawns would starve or be easily plucked off their teetering legs by coyotes or bears or wander into roads to be smashed by cars. They don’t got antlers but they know how to hide, he said. My brother elbowed me a stiff one as if to tell me to not bother the old man with my stupid questions. As if I should have le...

9 likes 0 comments 0

Read story