Oliver Gray

“Bobby Lee” by Oliver Gray

Bobby Lee“Aren’t you going in?”Bobby Lee Taggart jerked, frightened by the presence of a voice so suddenly near to him. He turned, saw a hunched old man in the drift of the carnival’s floodlights. A pale, bony figure on bowed legs, with feet that were impossibly small, and a short, hand-carved, twisted pine cane. The face was reedy and pointed. A long, aquiline nose protruded over pale lips and a white, elegantly-curled handlebar moustache. A beard, also white, clung to the man’s chin and dropped down nearly to his starched collar. The man h...

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“Sneaver's Texaco” by Oliver Gray

(Content Warning: Language)Sneaver's TexacoBenny Appington shifted nervously on the battered stool behind the counter at Sneaver’s Texaco, just off Exit 17 on Highway 68. Outside, a good, summer thunderboomer raged. Inside, Benny’s gut felt like a twisted ball of lead rope. He could feel the sweat forming in each of his armpits. He could also—as his butt adjusted position ever so slightly—feel the duct taped seat grabbing at the ass of his dirty Levi 501s. He looked down at his uniform shirt and picked at a piece of lint and a few stray cat ...

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“The Other Place” by Oliver Gray

(CW: Death of a loved one) The Other Place“He went down that way, James.”           I didn’t bother asking how this man knew my name. I was too busy trying to slow my breathing. Trying to slow the beating of my heart. Trying to tell myself that what I was seeing was normal, that it was all okay and that I hadn’t had some sort of Carroll-esqe break from reality. I tried—as hard as I could—to tell myself that having this conversation with the man pointing down the mossy, red-bricked path ...

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“Ol' Jim” by Oliver Gray

Submitted to Contest #285

(Content Warning: Death)Ol’ JimI still remember the very first time I met Ol’ Jim Keeley. Remember it like it was yesterday. That’s cliché, I know. But being cliché doesn’t make it any less true.           Ol’ Jim Keeley.           Ol’ Jim.           That’s what I called him. It’s what everybody called him. Hell, it’s how we were introduced.      &nb...

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“Francis” by Oliver Gray

Submitted to Contest #283

Francis“The world is off again,” said the man in front of me.            The man in front of me didn’t lean forward to emphasize his point. He didn’t raise his voice, or even vary his inflection. He just stated his opinion—no, his feeling—in a very slow, even way. The way you might expect a young child to tell you how the word dog is spelled or that two plus two equals four. Just straightforward and simple.            “What do you me...

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“Closer” by Oliver Gray

Submitted to Contest #282

(CONTENT WARNING: Language and acts of violence) Closer Tommy stopped mid-bite when he saw the grizzled hand pop up. He stared, watched the coach emerge in segments. The arm first. Then the head, complete with the team’s iconic blue hat perched atop a head of thinning, graying hair. Next came the shoulders, narrower now than they’d been in the man’s prime, slumping and rounded. Then the rest of the coach, in his pristine team uniform with the large, blocked numbers hanging on his crooked back.        &...

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“Obits” by Oliver Gray

Submitted to Contest #280

(CONTENT WARNING: Death and Language)Obits“Nary a one?”           My editor didn’t rise from his battered, faux-leather seat. He didn’t even bother taking his feet off his desk. Hell, he didn’t even raise his voice. Didn’t yell or scream the way my old Army sergeants would.           He sat there, leaning back in his baby-shit green chair, his feet clad in a pair of knock-off penny loafers he’d obviously picked up at Wally World or T...

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“Bunny” by Oliver Gray

Submitted to Contest #279

(CONTENT WARNING: Language, Drug Use, and Violence)Bradley Honaker was the last motherfucker alive. He knew it. Just fucking knew it. The last one. The last goddamned human being on the planet.           And he was sprawled on the living room floor of his home at the corner of Irving Street and K Avenue, propped up slightly by the world’s heaviest damned coffee table, unbathed and unwashed, wearing only a pair of whitey-tighties that hadn’t been clean for six weeks. Somewhere, from an un...

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“Pap” by Oliver Gray

Submitted to Contest #278

Pap“Peter Gibbons?” the nurse asked.             I nodded, started to reach for my wallet, that automatic gesture we all learn early on. The one that says ‘hey, I can prove it, here are my papers’. Only they’re not papers anymore. Plastic mostly. Two-inch by three-inch chunks of some sort of polymer with some ink arranged in just the right way.             The nurse waived me off and pointed down the hall. “Room f...

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