Stephen Mccluer

“FROM MY PLACE” by Stephen Mccluer

Submitted to Contest #273

Dust hanging lazily in the air serves only to diffuse the meager light from a single bulb fixed at the peak of the ceiling. Aimee doesn’t notice. The light has always been there, always on, always dimly illuminating the trunks and boxes scattered around the room.Dim light is as much of her universe as the air that she breathes. It is not something one would usually think about. So are the occasional visits to her quarters by the man. It is simply how the world works.The man seems to be like a spirit from another world. When he opens the port...

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“Cold Response” by Stephen Mccluer

Submitted to Contest #271

[Trigger: describes death, auto accident] March, 1967 Gray. Light, yet no shadows and little color. Horizon to horizon, only gray under a ceramic bowl of a sky revealing no clouds and no sun. Light snow flurries falling in the dead-still of frozen air. The temperature dropped forty degrees the second I opened the door. As the car that had given me a lift drove away, I experienced second thoughts about having chosen this route. The more traveled route through town was almost a five-mile route. Why would anybody pick up an unknown person in t...

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“Adversaries” by Stephen Mccluer

Adversaries When Seth takes off his hat, the sweat that has accumulated under the brim floods his eyes, washing away some of the dust that has accumulated on his forehead. He wipes his face with his bandana and surveys his surroundings. From where he and his horse sit on a small ridge, the territory looks pretty much alike in all directions—flat, brown, dusty, and what little vegetation there is seems dead except for wandering tumbleweeds. Dust-devils swirl in tiny tornadoes, sometime picking up a tumbleweed and shredding it before the cone...

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“Self Exit” by Stephen Mccluer

Submitted to Contest #234

“Another year,” BJ thought. “Another probing of this organ and that appendage . . . and my brain. Hello. Are you still in there? Yep, still here, but for what purpose it’s hard to say.” The doctor always asks the same question. “How are you feeling?” The answer is always the same. “Fine.” Then the probing and the prodding, followed by a list of questions, most of which were answered on the form filled out during the hour’s wait in the lobby . . . if he would only read it. No new allergies, no unusual heart beats or shallow breathing or b...

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“Tempting” by Stephen Mccluer

Submitted to Contest #226

His ragged cardboard sign read, “NEED FOOD – PLEASE HELP.” He indeed looked hungry—dirty, skinny, even feeble. I had seen him—or others like him—many times at this intersection under an overpass. I never give anything to those beggars. I have been suckered too many times. A recent neighborhood chat room proclaimed that these people are not truly homeless. “They just don’t have jobs. It is more profitable for them to beg than to labor all day. At the end of the day, they get into their cars and drive home.” I suspect there is no data to ...

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“The Five-Ten” by Stephen Mccluer

Submitted to Contest #209

The Five-Ten Steve McCluer “C’mon, man. You know you wanna go. The whole team will be there except you.” “No, you know I can’t,” said Pete. “I promised I’d work this warehouse job until school starts. Besides, I don’t have much money and I need this job.” “Well, the party lasts for a week. If you change your mind and you can make it to Tulsa, we’ll make sure you get a place to stay and ride back home.” Pete hung up the phone feeling miserable. This would be the first time he had missed the national competition, so he felt both sad and lo...

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