Samuel S.

“The Console Tinkerer” by Samuel S.

I watched the short woman in the olive green sweater grab the last Nintendo Wii from the shelf. She was about to make a mad dash to the nearest cashier when I stepped in front of her. “Alright. How much?” “Excuse me?” I reached into my wallet and pulled out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills. The woman’s look of annoyance turned quickly to a look of interest. “A hundred dollars.” I said. “I...

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“A Morning Spent in Escanaba” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #95

Will Donnelson took a swig of Bud Lite and turned up the radio. Creedence Clearwater Revival exploded from the car’s speakers. He imagined his mother, pressing her hands to her ears and crying “It’s so loud!” before insisting he switch over to NPR or one of those stations that play the same three bubblegum pop songs over and over again. For the first time in his life, he got to listen to the songs he wanted to ...

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“The Catholic Mission in Low Earth Orbit” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #44

There was a mistiness in the man’s eyes as he affixed his gaze upon the wooden idol of Christ suspended above the altar. In the past few months, Father Rodriguez had become familiar with this look. On a day-to day-basis, few inhabited his pews, but whenever there was a visitor, they did not come lightly. It did not surprise the Bishop, given the geographic nature of his churchgoers’ profession, to see the immense anguish and anxiety they brought to this place of worship. Still, he could not help but look upon the dark expressions of the ...

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“This Side of the Pacific” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #44

They married on that day in Japan when the ground quaked, the shores drowned, and the nuclear plant exploded. Thankfully, the ceremony was held in Seattle, not Sendai. Still, those in attendance came silently to the shore, to contemplate the ocean, to marvel at how serene it seemed in Washington State, knowing what they did of the situation in Tōhoku. That which happened more than four thousand miles away cast an eeriness and trepidation over the rest of the celebration. How might they sing and dance and drink with fifteen thousand dead o...

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“Relish” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #35

“Just the usual, please. One hot dog with relish.” Hannibal handed me his five-dollar bill. I grabbed it and went to open the register, but found myself stopped dead by the unblinking gaze of Lincoln. When Jason woke me up early this morning, so that we could set everything up, he reminded me that we promised to...

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“Red Dance of Spring” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #35

On the first day of spring, the white mares had to trot for but a minute down the dirt road before pausing. A singular, small field separated my own family’s estate, Maysonshire House, from the manor of Lord Weldonsford. Yet my mother urged me to make quite an entrance on this, such a special and enchanted night. So it was that our finest, whitest horses pulled up to the front steps of the Weldonsford Manor and I emerged from the dark-as-night carriage. I gazed down nervou...

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“Acid Rain” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #34

One day, there began an acid rain that never stopped. This wasn’t just an average acid rain. Besides lasting, as I write this, several decades now, the other peculiar thing about this storm is that that acid is extremely potent. It can hurt, it can burn, it can kill. Within the first day, over two hundred people died directly from exposure to the rain, and over seven thousand people reported se...

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“Extraterritoriality” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #34

Victor Bartram was the name of the U.S. government agent waiting to arrest me the moment I stepped outside the Swedish Embassy. At least, I thought so. The ambassadors passed onto me that bit of information, and while they speak perfect English, their Swedish accents are so thick at times it’s hard to know for sure if I heard them correctly. And though I see the man every day, I am hardly in an...

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“Chess at Uncle Sebastian's” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #34

“Your move.” I slid my white bishop across the board and knocked down his black king. “Ah, checkmate!” Uncle Sebastian said. “You beat me again!” I couldn’t bring myself to exclaim or even smile. I knew he had the best intentions in lett...

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“The Correspondence” by Samuel S.

Submitted to Contest #34

Dear Mr. Everson, I’m not sure if you remember me. My name is John Walton. I graduated from Henry Knox High School in 2008. I took your European History class my Senior year and I was really inspired. It’s because of you that I decided to become a history teacher. To get my diploma in secondary education, ...

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