Tim O'Shea

“The Letter” by Tim O'Shea

Submitted to Contest #106

The year 2060… "Sir! The courier is ready to go!" said the guard. The sound of an aircraft at an incredibly low altitude shook the entire building. The guard stopped holding the rifle slung around his shoulder and braced for several seconds in the doorway waiting for the inevitable explosion of a bomb dropping. It did, but it was several city blocks away. The guard breathed a sigh of relief and thanked whoever was looking down on him from above. He took another look at the person in the small room of the basement. He was an old man, know...

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“The Diner” by Tim O'Shea

Submitted to Contest #67

Richard Starns was drunk as he stumbled out of the bar. It was this every night or go home to the woman who lived at his house. He preferred the company of Mr. Jack Daniels to her. Mr. Daniels never disappointed him. Yelled at him. Or belittled him. The cold air whipped his face as he turned the corner on Main Street. He kept his head down and started walking slower, anything to slow down his progress toward the inevitable nagging the woman would give him upon his return home. He was deep in thought as he passed the brightly lit diner on t...

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“Through the Ashes” by Tim O'Shea

“I…I don’t…know if I can do this…” gasped John. The youngest of their group, barely out of high school, dragged the heavy backpack slowly. “Suck it up, buttercup,” Sarah The Zombie Killer said raising her rifle and checking the street out in front of them with her scope. Smoke from charred buildings wrapped around her sights as she tried to see. Visibility was limited to five feet. Maybe. The moans from the undead could be heard a block away. A big group this time. “I’m carrying all of our supplies. I deserve…” said John. Max or Mad Dawg as ...

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“Through the Ashes” by Tim O'Shea

Submitted to Contest #60

“I…I don’t…know if I can do this…” gasped John. The youngest of their group, barely out of high school, dragged the heavy backpack slowly. “Suck it up, buttercup,” Sarah The Zombie Killer said raising her rifle and checking the street out in front of them with her scope. Smoke from charred buildings wrapped around her sights as she tried to see. Visibility was limited to five feet. Maybe. The moans from the undead could be heard a block away. A big group this time. “I’m carrying all of our supplies. I deserve…” said John. Max or Mad Dawg as ...

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“The Phone Tree” by Tim O'Shea

Submitted to Contest #59

  1980’s Rural Nebraska   “Do you think he will be here today?” the voice asked. Bob Metcalf poured the cup of coffee in front of him and cradled the heavy phone between his shoulder and ear. “Who says it’s a he?” Metcalf replied. The voice was quiet for a spell. The static, all too familiar crackling sound that was all to frequent on old country phone lines was the only sound heard. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you ain’t. Any stranger that comes around…we need to be ready.” Metcalf said, “I got the best view in town. Any stranger co...

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