Thomas Jackson

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jun, 2022

Stories (7)

7 Stories

109 karma pts

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“Estoy Solo” by Thomas Jackson

Submitted to Contest #276

The sounds of Medellin hit differently. Cars rumbled by, mopeds honked their salutations, and only the occasional blare of neighborhood music could sheathe them. Normally, I wear headphones when I travel. Like always. But not that day. On my first solo trip, jetlagged and in an unfamiliar place, I was spooked. Netflix ‘Narcos’ being at its height, didn’t help. I stared at my phone’s GPS (roaming charges be damned) and kept peeking at my taxi driver. Was he legit? No clue. At the airport, they all had ‘Taxi’ on t...

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“Dear Diary, Today I Killed a Man” by Thomas Jackson

Submitted to Contest #273

October 25th, 2024 The smell differed from I expected. When I go deer hunting, the smell is rancid and musty. Like old cheese. Sometimes it’s like burning rubber. Mr. Wilkins was pungent. It was strong, but had hints of rotting fruit. It’s still in my nostrils. I tried washing my clothes, but even after a second cycle, it was still there. I burned them in the forest. For six weeks I have been talking to Mr. Wilkins about his past - check that…had been talking about his past. His broken family and the never-endin...

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“The Under” by Thomas Jackson

Submitted to Contest #235

“Eight bucks, that’s all we got,” Doug says, passing the lukewarm coffee to Johnny. “Crap in a handbasket, man. Where did it go?” “We lost fifty on Villanova and another fifty on the Chargers.” “I told you, Nova on the road was dirty business. And you bought a round of drinks at the bar. I mean what the…” Doug kicks rocks. Johnny lets Doug walk the guilt trip for a few moments. “Well, crap. How about some breakfast?” They walk around the corner, plop into a sticky booth and nod over to the waitress. She wipes down the table before asking, “w...

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“How to Become a Bandit” by Thomas Jackson

Submitted to Contest #175

“Shh, Ethan, they’re going to hear us.” John whispered. “It’s fine,” Ethan said. Ethan’s fourteen inch spade stabbed a patch of grass behind Mrs. Dunlap’s shambling home. John crouched over, waiting for a puddle of empty dirt, large enough to plant the baby orange tree in his hands. Ethan plowed as fast as he could, twisting his wrists like a golfer practicing putts. He fished out a sizeable chunk, and John nudged him. “That’s big enough.” Ethan backed away, and John dropped the base of the plant down. They quickly covered the hole w...

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“In my day” by Thomas Jackson

Submitted to Contest #166

VLOOKUPS, XLOOKUPS, and ZLOOKUPS are bad enough. In my day, we used a piece of paper and a number two pencil. Now, all these kids talk about is Java, Python and SQL. The only sequel I care about is Terminator 2. Now that was a great flick. And don’t get me started on the water cooler talk. It’s all Tinder and Bumble. I can’t tell if they are starting a bee hiving club or Boggle’s cousin is making a comeback. I love that game. “Hey George, we’re starting a GoFundMe for Becky. It’s really sad.” Gabby says, snapping me out of my ‘get off my law...

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“Tuesday Nights” by Thomas Jackson

Submitted to Contest #158

The smell of incense reminds me of Sundays. When the kids still called me dad, and we used to go mass. I was in the choir, though I could never hit that C-sharp. That was before I Iost my job. Before the 3:00 PM in-house daily happy hours. Before the accident. Now, I sit in a dilapidated basement of a Lutheran church, and the smell of incense calls another feeling: shame. "John, would you like to talk next? How was work this week?" Jenny, the AA host this week, asked, knocking me out of my daydream. "Fine. Mr. Adams is still a raging…." ...

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“The Aces” by Thomas Jackson

Submitted to Contest #149

The red light flickered three times in the green room. The Red Aces, tonight's headliner, formed in a circle, arm in arm. They swayed left and right a few times, and Jonny, the lead singer, let out a low, bass-filled hum, then started singing. Two beats in, the rest of the band joined into their granddaddy's favorite Roger Miller tune. The one he sang to them after a cup too many of the shine. "Trailer's for sale or rent  Rooms to let, 50 cents  No phone, no pool, no pets  I ain't got no cigarettes," "Alright, boys, it's s...

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