Category: Short Stories
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Losing My Father While He’s Still Alive
I writhe my hands in my lap. Out the passenger-seat window familiar scenery appears—decrepit orange groves and crumbling fences. “You okay?” Brayden asks. “We don’t have to do this. I’ll turn around.” “No, no. I need to see him. It’ll be fine.” But I don’t trust the words I’ve just spoken. Over the last few…
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You Got Me
The following short story is inspired by an actual conversation overheard at a bar. Sometimes reality is crazier than fiction.
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A Shel of Her Former Self
I push a cart of buffet-caked dishes between scattered tables at Don’s Smorgasbord. “Angela,” a regular greets me. “Hey, Shel. How are ya?” I pluck plates of gnawed chicken bones and dessert-crumbed remnants from the table. “Where’s Jennie?” “Bathroom.” He pulls a fancy pen from his front pocket, scribbles on a napkin, and tucks a…
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Traffic in the Bahamas
Two Canadians, a Brit, and an American walk into a Bahamian casino. What could go wrong? To find out, keep reading. It’s a doozie. # # # Michael drops into a plush seat at the Blackjack table and slaps down two-hundred-dollar bills. The bow-tied dealer pushes a large stack of chips his way. This is…
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Dirt Bag Bully
I rip out my earbuds and toss them on the table. “I cannot believe this.” “What?” Brett asks as he puts on his sneakers for a walk. “Grammar Guru just explained the backstory of the word bully. Allegedly in the 1500s it meant sweetheart. I mean why do that? It kinda undermines the gravity of…
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How Books Saved My Life: A Memoir
I recently attended a literary conference, YA By the Bay. The theme was turning readers into leaders. I shared this story with teen readers, and now I’d like to share it with you. As a writing community, we have an obligation—to highlight the magnitude of what’s at stake when teens don’t have access to the…
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Reading With His Daughter
I tucked the documents the attorney had given me into a folder. Documents that meant Dad was officially unable to make his own health and financial decisions—grateful he’d signed them before it was too late. “Dad, it’s time to go,” I shouted into my former guest room. My father sat in the worn recliner he…
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There’s No Pee in P.E.
Mrs. Marshall, my third-grade teacher, points to the clock. “P.E.’s in five minutes. If anyone needs to use the bathroom, I’d do it now.” Her words fight with the ones on the page. But Charlotte’s Web has me more entangled than a trip to the pee-smelling hallway bathroom. I ignore her suggestion and keep reading.…
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Something Weird is in the Attic by Barclay Nielsen
My eight-year-old autistic son sees me reading and writing—a lot! I also encourage him to read and read with him. He’s read my book “Goldilocks and the Three Bears: Understanding Autism Spectrum Disorder” which he knows was inspired by him. So last night when he asked me to transcribe his horror story, I was blown…
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The New Librarian
The pounding on the door should have startled Stevie, but she’d been tipped off. She took a slow, deliberate sip of steaming Earl Gray. Then she placed the chipped floral cup on its matching dish atop the side table. She picked up her cane but made no attempt at a speedy greeting. The people on…
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You Belong Here
A notification pinged on Michelle’s cell. She stopped typing the dissertation for her Board-Certified Behavior Analyst program. It didn’t matter if the notification was for a low-effort puzzle app or a text from her recent Made-It-Face-Book-Official boyfriend; she responded to each with equal urgency. She tapped in her passcode and swiped on the notification—a request…
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Ronan’s Revenge
Introduction I don’t read, write, or critique Fantasy, I’m just not that smart! But when a writing bestie was selected as a guest judge for a fantasy writing competition, I had to try! I had no idea of a plot. But one scene from a movie kept coming to my mind. (I won’t say what…
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The Singing River
Shannon and I held hands as we rode our bikes side by side. A skill we’d recently perfected. He’d just guessed my Hum That Tune, I Was Made for Dancing. I’d plastered my room with Teen Beat Leif Garret posters. His looks ranked better with me than his music. But I did like that one.…
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A Sunset and a Cigar
A sunset is the ultimate partner. She demands nothing. Only gives. That may sound misogynistic. But what the hell? We’re talking about a sunset here. I take my single-blade guillotine, give me a break; I’m old school and ready the stick. I light my Ashton as I take in the lake, the sky, and the…
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The Bystander, The Mother, and The Son
Writing from three different points of view, Amy shares a personal story about a meltdown her autistic son had when he was four years old.
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Cosmopolitan: A Contemporary New Orleans Ghost Story
I’m not a ghost storyteller, but after visiting New Orleans and going on a ghost story tour, I had to at least try it! So here’s my attempt at weaving a NOLA ghost story into a contemporary setting!
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Jumbalaya, Crawfish Pie, Seafood Gumbo – 1952 – Jumbalaya on the Bayou – Hank Williams, Sr.
If you’ve read my YA WORTH IT (or hopefully plan to when it’s published), I’m sure the almost burning questions on your mind are, “What the heck is filet gumbo?” and “How can I get some?” I say almost burning because, well, you’ll find out soon enough. Much of WORTH IT is based on my…
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Blood-Red Lipstick
I’m waiting outside on a rusty garden bench in front of my Florida ranch when Rhonda rolls up in her stepdaddy’s jacked-up Ford. “Wahoo,” she screams through the open window. “Let’s go!” I stand and tug at the miniskirt I’d long outgrown. It’s just a regular Tuesday. But to Rhonda and me it’s anything but…
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The Actress
I wrote this to honor my IRL friend Sabrina Lloyd who did go on to achieve a successful career in acting, until she decided on her own terms, she didn’t want it anymore.
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Find Her Phone – A Short Story Family Thriller
Light seeps under my closed bedroom door. The signal that my newly minted adult daughter hasn’t made it home. I ignore my full bladder and jostle my husband. “What time is it?” He raises his head. “Six-fifteen. Why?” “I think the light on the staircase is still on. Either Lauren hasn’t made it home or…
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The Mimosa Tree
When I started writing fiction, I had no idea prologues were a fiction death-wish. I cut my prologue and got a deal for my upcoming debut WORTH IT. But, I think she has some merit. It’s first-person POV, but definitely reads as memoir. Anyway, maybe you’ll enjoy. Here you go. The Mimosa Tree Dad only…
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Hello, I’m Beer Can Island
On the map I’m known as Pine Key Tampa Bay, but I’m infamously known to the locals as Beer Can Island—which I prefer. I’m a pretty big deal here in Tampa Bay. At least I think so. Folks are in a pretty good mood when they’re here—evidenced by abundant smiles. On most weekends boats line…
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The Abortion
HOUSING PROJECTS Southern Mississippi 1960s Lamar held my trembling hand in his sweaty one. A white doctor in dirty scrubs put my feet in stirrups. My knees locked. Two colored nurses in plain clothes draped a sheet over a wall-to-wall wire, cutting off my view of my torso. Not that I wanted to watch. The…
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Osprey
Yesterday, while visiting my boat to clear a mama osprey’s nesting debris, inspiration hit. It’s not perfection, but it’s from the heart.
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A Day in My Autistic Life: If Mom Could Read My Mind
Thirty seconds left. I sprint through the Mushroom Kingdom. I must save Princess Peach. I smash Goombas and Koopas. I pound bricks and hoard coins. Resurrection comes at a price and I’m short. The ground rumbles. Bowser’s closing in. Behind two white clouds, a castle appears. I’m so close. A bridge. I miss. I don’t…
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The Prodigal Daughter – A Personal Short Story
A mother had two daughters. The hard-working eldest found and filled her purpose in life. The abundantly talented youngest struggled to find hers. Vulnerability struck and drew her from the safety of her loving family and into a toxic secret world. To her sister and mother, she painted a counterfeit canvas bathed in hollow hues…
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Little Bear – A Spooky Short Story
“Damn. I’m gonna be late again.” I rapid-fire my horn. “Move over!” I yell at the mud-caked forest-green John Deer. The fast-paced Orlando traffic is nothing compared to the frustration of crawling behind an overgrown tortoise. I’d much rather race a hare down I-4. I dig my cell phone out of my corduroy knapsack and…
Amy Nielsen 