Trudy Jas

“Looking Inside” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #282

I had an epiphany while standing in line at the DMV. Since I had all the time in the world I picked at scabs of old hurts, swept away the fragments of broken promises and scoured the stains of spilled tears till I saw a pattern.In the crevices between memory and reality live the ghosts of dreams.I remembered bedtime stories from when I was a child. The stories of girls who became princesses and lived happily ever after. Though evil tried to interfere, no amount of deceit and lies would aid the wicked. It was always the patient, innocent, swe...

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“Slippery when wet.” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #281

Do you remember the first time you saw the ad? You couldn’t look away, could you? You looked at your wife and she too was mesmerized. But she averted her eyes, knowing that it would be too extravagant. Too much to ask for.Then there was the full-page ad in the AARP Bulletin, do you remember that? You put it aside, took note of the local number. Of course, it would be too expensive, you thought. But maybe if you didn’t take that golf outing this year and skipped a few trips to the gambling boats. Surely then…You wife's birthday is coming up, ...

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“Dora the explorer” by Trudy Jas

This one is for Jed. :-)“Are you really going to do this?” Rebecca looks at her with big eyes. “Nobody has ever done it. Are you sure?”“If I want to have my name in books, then yes I need to do something nobody else has ever done. I can’t just repeat climbing the same mountain many other people have climbed. People will say, ‘sure, well done, kid.’ Then they’ll pad me on the head and move on. I’d just be an arm note. One of a few women to have done it.”“Don’t you mean anecdote? And you’d be the youngest. That should count for something, righ...

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“The Tuesday boys” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #280

Mention of child abuse, physical violence.The Tuesday boys.She wore her silence like a yoke, secrets weighing on her shoulders. Through the years she held her tongue, turned her head and pretended not to know, but each Tuesday the bile would rise in her throat.On those days she couldn’t look people in the eye or face the mirror. Many sleepless nights, the ghosts living among her self-loathing stirred. They crept around corners, seeped through crevasses, and challenged her silence. Fragments of what she had heard and seen clung to their shado...

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“Just an old woman” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #279

Lost in thoughts, she sits at the window and looks out at the street. Though she doesn’t see the trees covering their nakedness with blossoms and delicate young leaves. Nor doesn’t she see the children come home, coats and jackets undone, scarves and mittens stuffed in pockets, or the birds building a nest in the tree outside her window.Instead, she sees the young girl, braids flying as she runs down the alley behind the row of houses. She clutches a crumpled paper with the gold star. The child can’t wait to show mama, convinced that this wi...

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“My safe place.” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #278

The little grey man with half glasses asked me what I had to say for myself. I didn’t know how to answer him. I didn't know what he was asking me.I should have known. Someone should have taught me. But no one had ever come back from here to teach us.I learned that most people don’t have a safe place. They don’t need one. I asked Angie once what hers looked like. She didn’t know what I was talking about. Angie lived in a nice neighborhood, where bad things didn’t happen. Bet she’d never heard a police siren or ambulance rushing down her ...

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“Wicked theft. A cautionary tale.” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #277

A conversation with my computer. Computer voice expertly supplied by Derrick M. Domican. Thank you, Derrick for your time, thoughts and words. Couldn't have done it without you.Here we go, new week, new story. I need characters, and a plot with a beginning, middle and end. Who'll be my main character, what about a side character, point of view. Shall I go with close narrative? First person narrative? Oh, how about second person, always a challenge. But what about the plot, plot, plot, plot.I can help.Sh. I’m thinking. Plot, plot …Theft.Huh?...

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“Johnny's Quest” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #277

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. We’ll call him Johnny. He was a beautiful little fellow, with big chocolate eyes and a head full of dark curls. Such a happy little boy with a winning smile. As soon as little Johnny could walk, he went out and made friends, lots of friends. Little Johnny was popular and fit in everywhere he went.Until …Johnny had never spent a minute thinking about IT, what IT was or why he would need IT. But gradually he felt as if he had lost something. Didn’t his classmates laughed at him when he couldn’t cl...

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“Treading water in the dating pool” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #276

Though the tag indicates "creative non-fiction, the tale is sadly true. A date is more than “didchaeatyet?’ right. Let's say a date is an event where the dator askes the datee, then picks up said datee and brings the datee home again. And you want to know if any of mine ever took a left turn, right? Yeah, sure. No problem. Except which one shall I share with you? Oh never, mind. I’ll tell you about all of them. Take a seat. No, this won’t take long. It’s a short story, more like flash fiction, really.It was in tenth grade that Robert as...

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“Rest in peace” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #275

Rest in peace. Warning! Mention of child abuse, rape, miscarriage, and revenge. The fifth step from the top on the main stairs has chewing gum stuck in the left corner as you come down. In the south wing, in front of the second-floor girls’ room, a couple of the tiles are cracked. A section of baseboard, just outside the chem lab, has a mysterious stain with a lingering sulfur odor. Two of the ceiling tiles in the boy’s locker room are broken. A budding Peeping Tom fell through when trying to get to the girl’s showers, where in the last...

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“Beyond time” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #275

I love old, well-used, well-loved books. You might say I’m obsessed with them. Each discovery gives my heart a jolt of anticipation; Is this the one? I look for little forgotten treasures, like a comment to a loved one, notes scribbled in margins. I have found forgotten, yellowed photos, handwritten letters, a recipe, or a dried flower stuck between pages. I keep looking as if there is something specific I need to find.Yesterday, Mr. Margoli, the owner of a quasi-antiques store, left me a message. He has something I might like. This morning ...

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“The hunt” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #275

.I shiver as the cold wind and needle-like rain slide down the collar of my too thin coat. Here in the dusk are no cute plastic pumpkins, make-believe scarecrows, or fairy lights, no tiny warlocks, robots, or witches. Here the ghosts and monsters are real. Here people do not wander the streets looking for candy after dark, not even the powdery kind.I’m not hunting candy of any kind. I’m hunting my enemy. The one who has taken my family and is preying on me. The one who has no mercy, no heart, no soul. The one whose hot breath I have fel...

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“The long road.” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #274

It’s time to make your rounds. You don your pretend white coat and arm yourself with a make-belief stethoscope before you step out of your office. The hallway is long and has many doors. Because you have learned that fate is resourceful when molding the human mind, you once again brace yourself to face what’s behind each door.The voice in your head taunts before you unlock the memory you keep behind each door. Are you sure you want to know what’s inside? Yes, of course. It’s my job. You assure the annoying, all-knowing voice. This conve...

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“Senseless” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #273

SenselessI have come to feed my addiction. I can no longer control my cravings, the ache deep inside of me.Daily I have tried to restrain my need by performing each task as if it is a religious ritual. The egg is boiled for exactly three and a half minutes, the bread is toasted to a light golden brown. The bed is made with hospital corners. The laundry is done on Mondays, groceries are bought on Tuesdays and Fridays. I watch the news at six.Tears at six thirty.Family and friends come and urge me to join them. A movie, or the opera? A class a...

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“I'm not Jane.” by Trudy Jas

Submitted to Contest #273

a lightning bolt of awareness ruthlessly slices into the roaring darkness giving a glimpse of a whoosh and sigh and a measured rise and fall --- ------ dark silence returns ---a startling jangle of beeps and clicks cuts through the blind silence. --- ------ silent blackness takes over---like a fetus in the womb, learning to tell light from dark. awareness in darkness feels as if buried alive. grateful for the light. --- --+--- nothingness ---where is here? --- --- silence is nothing--- where is here? ------darkness returns--- what ...

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