Thomas Philbrick

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Sep, 2020

Stories (7)

7 Stories

149 karma pts

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“The Bridge” by Thomas Philbrick

Submitted to Contest #101

TW: suicide   “That should be it, right Jimmy?” “Yeah.” Jim threw a rope over the loaded truck and heard it thump the steel frame on the other side. He tightened the rope and made a loop with both strands, passed the end through the loop, fed it through one of the metal hooks on the headboard, and cinched it down into a trucker’s hitch. The load swayed and he heard the rubber feed bins screech softly against the tailgate. “You heading out soon?” “Soon.” The truck teetered out of the dooryard. Jim heard the load creaking as the truck rol...

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“The Mill Road” by Thomas Philbrick

Submitted to Contest #101

I The man stared at the ceiling. His feet hung off the side of the bed. A distant lawnmower buzzed in and out of the afternoon and a soft breeze pulled at the saturated room. He closed his eyes. . . . Again the lawnmower wafted into the room. “Damn lawnmowers.” He leapt to his feet when his phone rang. It was the post office in Errol. A package had arrived for him. He thanked the caller and checked his email, hoping for something from the firm. Nothing. He started the truck and pulled out onto Route 26 without looking. He knew there ...

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“Potica” by Thomas Philbrick

Submitted to Contest #100

Anton pointed at his watch. “Soon,” he said. I nodded and dipped my hand into the clear water of the marble fountain. The coolness rushed up my arm and I felt the urge to go swimming. The square was long and open, ascending in gradually-stepped stone staircases toward the Art Institute on our right and stretching down into Ljubljana on our left. Anton had not told us why we were waiting at the fountain. He had led us there, spoken quietly with Mila, and turned to face the Art Institute, arms folded. Mila was sitting on the edge of the fou...

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“Under Seven-Mile Bridge” by Thomas Philbrick

Submitted to Contest #98

It had been a year since the last run.  A lot happens in a year. Hope my legs still remember how. One false move and you’re under and you don’t come up. Like Jonesy on Richardson. Jonesy was never coming up. “We need the extra men, you see Mike,” the crew boss had explained. “Can’t run the whole thing with only twenty poles. Just can’t do it.” “Sure.” “You game for it?” “Sure.” “I’ll be up in the morning to start. Have everything yarded or we’ll never catch Courser.” Mike cut a notch in the base of a thick pine. There was an emp...

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“The Visitor” by Thomas Philbrick

Submitted to Contest #96

We left early. The truck was loaded with planks, shingles, tar, plywood, and any other roofing materials Grampa thought we would need. He had overpacked, but that was to be expected. The lake was choppy when we arrived. I tried to give Dad the good bar but he wouldn’t take it. “You’re worth more with that than I am,” he said. We began ripping shingles off the roof. “Any word from Sam?” I asked. “Nope.” Dad dumped a wad of crumbled 1980s square-tips over the edge. “Says he might be coming through on the way to Bar Harbor. But—you know ho...

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“The Mill Road” by Thomas Philbrick

Submitted to Contest #86

I The man stared at the ceiling. His feet hung off the side of the bed. A distant lawnmower buzzed in and out of the afternoon and a soft breeze pulled at the saturated room. He closed his eyes. . . . Again the lawnmower wafted into the room. “Damn lawnmowers.” He leapt to his feet when his phone rang. It was the post office in Errol. A package had arrived for him. He thanked the caller and checked his email, hoping for something from the firm. Nothing. He started the truck and pulled out onto Route 26 without looking. He knew ther...

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“The Yoke” by Thomas Philbrick

Submitted to Contest #78

“Easy, Sam.” He ran his hand down the ox’s ribcage and shuffled toward the front of the trailer. The creature swung his head around, wide-eyed, and his horns hit the metal frame of the trailer. “How much do they weigh?” called a bystander. “3,200,” he replied without looking. “Each.” His assigned stalls were near the far end where the hill sloped down toward the camper village. They were good spots, close enough to the water spicket and far enough from the main door. That evening he sat on an overturned water bucket and tightened the bol...

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