Susan Whitlock

“Front Desk” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #203

      “So, what should I put for the address?” the chubby boyfriend, introduced as Trevor, asked. He stared at Brenda with glazed, muddy brown eyes.            “Excuse me?” she replied. She raised her head to answer his hundredth question.            “I don’t really have an address. I never filled out a job application before. Do I put where I stay in Ada sometimes, or my girlfriend’s place here in Neosh...

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“At the End of the Street” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #164

Up the street, Sharon walked: summer, winter, autumn, spring. Over the mound of weedy grass that led from the white curb to the first swaying trees. The trail led through some brush and down a path on a tree-dotted hill. Then there was a wide, pan-shaped meadow of dirt and grass and little treelings that held out hopping, chirping, buzzing, golden days.            Alone or with friends she would go; drawn by some magical string that connected her navel to “the woods”. ...

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“Coffee Breaks” by Susan Whitlock

            At the end of a trying day, Jimmy pushed back the damnable hood and sat hard on the concrete stoop in front of the Fredricks Apartment building. Sweat poured down his forehead and into his eyes, stinging. These blasted suits were like having on a walking sauna. The heat of a Kansas summer afternoon stretched his nerves till they were twanging like guitar strings too tightly wound. He could hear his own emotions humming in his ears, fighting with the cacophony of honking ...

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“Green Door” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #134

Adam stared at the keyring handed to him by the estate lawyer, Saul Kroll. He felt empty of thought and emotion until that point, but suddenly had the desire to stab Saul in the eye with the large skeleton key. “Better not,” his mind whispered wisely, “your brothers are watching.” Adam Everclay was the eldest son of Juniper Rollins Everclay – the billionaire investor. His two younger brothers, Troy and David, were each two years apart. His mother, Darlene, was dead. “Well, then,” he croaked, “that seems to be that.” Everyone stood up, excep...

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“In Coincidental Care” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #129

Isaac and Jesse Elder watched proudly as a group of shaggy men approached the guest desk at the newest family adventure, The Coincidental Inn, Mt. Rainier. The youngest of ten children born and raised on a Missouri farm in a small town called Laughlin, they had copied their parents original Coincidental Inn as closely as possible in two other locations. The first had been near Aspen CO, with the help of Sharon and Doug Brewster, who lived there and had been special guests at the Missouri inn the first year it opened. This third family inn ...

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“The Economics of Time” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #125

Nate Haskins had a very loose relationship with his watch. He glanced at it now and then, but more often than not his mind went to the man who had given him the watch, his maternal grandpa, Ray Lever. Sometimes he saw the time and was likely to leap up and take off for some appointment he had completely forgotten. He managed to race in five minutes late to most of his college courses, dates with his pretty girlfriend and basketball games he had drummed up himself. Nate was not a rude person; it was not that others time and feelings were less...

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“Enter, the Clowns” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #120

"That's the thing about this city," Carson whispered, "it is only partially visible." Dane leaned closer, because that could not be what his best friend had said to him. "Huh?" he replied, definitely not whispering. An older gentleman, who had been half-heartedly reading his newspaper, glanced over at them as the bus wheeled around the corner of 9th and Vine, pulling up with a rough stop in front of the Public Library. Carson straightened, pressed his lips together to indicate silence, and nodded his buddy off the bus. "What did you say?" Da...

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“Reason for the Season” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #118

           Kevin watched his mommy dive into a huge plastic tub in the hallway upstairs. Her rear end was waving around in the air in a way that made the six-year-old giggle uncontrollably. Mommy, aka Sandra Peterson, straightened and gazed down at her son, now holding his middle and rolling around the floor laughing.            “Something amuses you, boy?” she smiled down at him.          ...

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“Under the Overpass” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #110

“Like another refill?” the pretty waitress offered, leaning over to pour before waiting for an answer. She was young, but had been waiting tables for two years and knew a customer like this guy would sit here drinking refills till the next meal time rolled around, if management would allow it.            Albert nodded his shaggy head and smiled up into her blue eyes and midwestern friendliness.            “What’s your name, honey?” h...

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“The Archer's Ball” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #104

"Are you coming tonight?" Lucy glanced over at her mother, who was getting a manicure from a small woman with Asian coloring, but pink hair. She wanted to say no - she would not be coming to a senior citizen dance where she would be pitied by ninety-somethings who all had dates when she did not. She wanted to go home and eat her way through pimento cheese crackers and trail mix. And binge watch The Good Fight. Her mother, Hester Mae Dorchester, drilled her laser black eyes into Lucy's forehead, daring her to say no. Her manicurist wriggled...

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“A Friendly Start to Something New” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #103

Lily King answered the rapping on her front door completely uninformed. In the back of her mind somewhere was the thought that her friend, Bee, was dropping by to discuss her rose bushes again. Instead, she opened the door on the strangest chapter of her life.            It was just after supper and the knocking was firm, insistent as she made her way from the sudsy sink to the front entryway of her rambling farmhouse. She tried to peek through the golden- and- rose- stained glass that f...

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“Care and Feeding of a Time Traveler” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #101

Adrien pulled the brush back another stroke through the wispy, gray hair, her hand gliding over the bald, front part of Emily's head. She felt a sigh rising up and swallowed it back before it escaped. Fluff the hair, brush back, fluff the hair, brush back. Emily's bright, blue eyes were closed in bliss, her head tilted back into Adrien's fluffing hand. Her skull felt warm from the blow drying - and so small. Almost like she was holding the head of an infant, instead of an 88 year old woman. Adrien was one of 4 staff that rotated in the b...

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“Enter, the Clowns” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #85

"That's the thing about this city," Carson whispered, "it is only partially visible." Dane leaned closer because that could not be what his best friend had said to him. "Huh?" he replied, definitely not whispering. An older gentleman, who had been half-heartedly reading his newspaper, glanced over at them as the bus wheeled around the corner of 9th and Vine, pulling up with a rough stop in front of the Public Library. Carson straightened, pressed his lips together to indicate silence, and nodded his buddy off the bus. "What did you say?"...

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“Daygo” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #82

"Good morning, Gloria." "Good morning, Daygo," Gloria responded without thinking. Her fingers flew over her keyboard to launch the live-time version of her wonderful new App. For two years she had slaved away at creating this program to help people succeed. They would select their life goals, choose life preferences, resources, companions, family - every possible piece of their life codified and organized by Daygo. Then, when the setup was complete, they would be able to see calendars, graphs, charts and planners that showed them how to atta...

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“And So It Goes” by Susan Whitlock

Submitted to Contest #81

Elaine could hear the scrape, scrape. scrape of a snow shovel being worked up and down the front walk and driveway. Poor Rob! out in below zero weather while she sat working quietly in her den. When the sound stopped, she got up without thinking about it and peeked out the window to make sure he had not stroked out or something. No - he was watching their dogs romp in the snow drifts. She sighed. He was so handsome. His silver hair was getting a little shaggy, the cowlick grown out over the widow's peak. At 65 he still took her breath awa...

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