VJ Hamilton

“Street Meat” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #253

Jake Sopreny, proprietor of Jake’s Street Meat, holds an elongated bun, as puffy and innocuous as a cartoon cloud, splayed open across his pink palm. “What’ll you have?” he asks the person on the other side of his cart.Colton Brinkwater, a youngish man in a rumpled security guard uniform, stares at the bun’s light-yellow foamy interior. He straightens his posture. He’s stooped and shoulder-saggy from a twelve-hour shift spent mostly on his feet. He tucks in the shirt of his uniform, frowning slightly, thinking twice whether he can afford to ...

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“Rhymes with Pepsi” by VJ Hamilton

🏆 Winner of Contest #250

Dad did not like summer. “A little respiratory problem,” I overheard him tell the neighbour on one side of our house, but that was not why; I could hear the regular sigh of his breath when we watched TV together. “A minor circulatory thing,” I overheard him tell the other neighbour, but that was also not why because I could hear the steady ba-dump of his heart when I put my ear on his swollen belly. He just did not like the heat, I decided, like he did not like Coke but I did. The afternoon heat would drive us to the depths of the old stone ...

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“The Man in the Road” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #249

Leaving his father’s funeral, Joe was on autopilot, barely registering his wife Francesca and two daughters in as everyone piled into the old Volvo. A Stoic does not cry. Blinking rapidly, stern-faced, he had delivered his section of the eulogy, rather more eloquently than his brothers but not quite as ardently as his sister. Still, he had “kept it together”—how Father would have wanted. Not like Rita, who spoke of the childhood things: old-forest hikes with Father, spooky tales around the campfire, funny faces and silly-yet-wise sayings tha...

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“The Great Unknown” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #247

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.” The stocky sunburned man pulls out a folder with my résumé and letter of application in it. “You have successfully completed phase one of your admissions interview.”“What?” My heart sinks. I have just been arguing with this guy, thinking he was another candidate for the same position I’m interviewing for.  Then he comes clean, says he’s the one hiring people. “Just had to test you.”At his invitation, I come inside to the control room of a medium-sized boat, its large observation win...

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“Hide and Seek” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #246

Trigger warning: Themes of illness and death. On the fifth round of Hide and Seek, that’s when Eddy found it—a secret room at the end of a long, sloped closet. The closet was in the room where five-year-old Eddy and his six-year-old sister Carli shared a bunk bed. If you only looked in the closet, dark and jumbled, you couldn’t see the room. But Darkness was there all along, waiting.The four Manderley children were running out of good places to hide. Ten-year-old Adam was It now, and Eddy was in a panic—that’s why he clambered over boots and...

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“After Hours” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #239

“Time to head out,” John said. “Have a nice evening.” He rose from his desk, packed his laptop and left. Sue said, “You too,” as she switched her footwear from office ouchy to commuter comfortable. Then she, too, packed her laptop and left. The second hand of the clock journeyed once, twice, thrice around. Clock said, “Talk. Talk,” and a low-level vibration began to fill the room. Remington, the manual typewriter, thumped out from the closet, moving sideways to the middle of the floor. Brrrrt! Brrt! went his carriage return as the platen rol...

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“Fun Run” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #235

Rosa checks her fanny pack: keys, subway pass, bottled water, and a carefully wrapped sandwich: it’s all there. Nearby, a line of pink feather boas undulates, as seven women wearing Fun Run T-shirts break into a rhyming cheer: Who are we running for? Who do we adore? It’s Ginnie, Ginnie, Ginnie Moore! Each repetition of the name is louder, and the boas are shaken higher. Wasteful enthusiasm: these women should conserve every nanowatt of energy if they want to finish the race, as sixty-year-old Rosa is planning to do. The doggerel ends wi...

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“We Apologize for the Inconvenience” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #234

The morning commuters at Gate A distributed themselves along the concrete station platform like crows on a wire. Finance was a solemn business and the men and women who waited for Train 1 were clad in funereal attire: overcoats of black, navy, dark gray, with one or two exceptions in beige—and one poor soul with no overcoat whatsoever. Mallik shivered as he stood in the cold misty air. Why on earth did I forget my blasted coat at work? He recalled yesterday’s noisy debate in the stuffy little meeting room crammed with screens, whiteboa...

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“Hello and Goodbye” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #223

The packing tape squealed as Professor Augie Sorenson ran the roll over the flaps of the last box containing the odds and ends from his office. His promising career in materials science was teetering on the edge. A man’s voice outside the door said, “Found it, thank you.” A stern-looking young man entered, displeasure writ large across his face, the look quickly wiped away and replaced with a toothy smile. Augie used this tactic himself: the dissatisfaction made one appear discerning, and the smile charmed the viewer into thinking a bond wa...

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“Bullet Train” by VJ Hamilton

Agnes Beaulieu looked out her window as the bullet train pulled out of Tokyo station. Harsh late-morning sunlight alternated with shadows from buildings and tunnels: light-dark, light-dark-dark, light-dark-light, with increasing frequency as the train picked up speed. She gave a heavy sigh. For four years she had been accompanying young Katriona on trips from her father’s place in Seattle to her mother’s place in Kumamoto. It was not unlike bronco busting, with Katriona bucking and pitching the whole ride while she, Agnes, simply tried to ke...

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“Drunk Santa” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #167

“Did you see their faces?” the man in the Santa suit says, suppressing a hiccup. The bar is dim, cheap fixtures casting a blanket of anonymity into the farthest corners. Shelves of liqueur bottles—red, yellow, blue, green, amber—gleam like a jeweled high altar. A tinsel garland is looped on the corners of a framed picture of Jerry Springer, and mini lights are strung around the entrance to the bathrooms. A few sad sacks are nursing their beers at separate small tables. Merle Haggard’s wailing, “Some day when things are good.” And then there’...

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“Freedom 95” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #166

Elliott retired years ago and Maxmillion Pennyworth, his financial advisor, compliments him on his glowing health. Until today, when he frowns. “The challenge, Elliott, is longevity risk.” “Longevity?” Elliott chuckles. “That’s a nice problem to have.” “In these high-inflation times, you might outlive your assets. That’s not so nice.” Maxmillion says. “Of course, you could consider a ‘top up’… do you have a preference for right or left arm?” “Right, right…” Elliott has been nodding along as usual to Maxmillion’s polished phrases and is caugh...

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“The Harvest” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #165

In the night, Lucia awakens and remembers how it used to be, those hot summer days in Tuscany when everyone at the villa stretched out for siesta. She gravitated to the boathouse, where she’d mosey into the murky shade with the sound of water slapping the hull. And soon there would be Guido, also seventeen, climbing out from the water, pushing back his dripping hair. “Come, slip into the water,” he’d say, trailing fingertips over the surface. “No, Ma worries when I swim alone.” “But you’ll be with me.” Shy smile. “Oh, a boy! That’s even wors...

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“Cabbage Hill” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #164

Charlie checked his Rolex. An hour before his flight to Toronto and the connection home. He had one final pre-arranged stop. He drove the rental Camry down the street of stunted maples and shaggy bushes until it reached Perimeter Road, then went two blocks beyond. Here we are, the house that time forgot. The bungalow needed paint and the front yard was overgrown with thick-stemmed thistles. The blinds were half-drawn on the two front windows, like the lids of two watchful but tired eyes. In the city, Charlie knew this kind of dereliction: an...

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“The Ride Not Taken” by VJ Hamilton

Submitted to Contest #163

The plan was to leave campus early, before the snow set in, while light still filled the sky. But Aidan had fallen into a rabbit hole of online references and blogs and comments-on-blogs while researching his essay on indigenous land claims in northern Canada. Just an undergrad essay for an optional class, but it had suddenly become make-or-break, the piece he would regard forever more as the point when he committed, the point when he actually took up the cause to work for justice for his people. The library closing-time signal had chim...

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