Bittersweet Lane
Muncie Noir
“Hey. We got one more delivery for you.”
“Please, not another college apartment,” I thought. “Not another college apartment.”
“It’s on Bittersweet Lane.”
The last delivery was an apartment by campus. I knocked, and I heard a shout through the door, “Pizza’s here!” A blonde with a ponytail in a sorority sweatshirt . . .
The First Date
A Thomasville Story
To keep the fiction-writing muscles in shape, I'm occasionally writing little stories from my fictional town, Thomasville. Each story, hopefully, stands on its own but gives a little picture of what's happening in the town.
Mike looked across the pressed tablecloth, full wine glasses, and shiny silverware, realizing this . . .
Afterword
The Thomasville Treasure
In the spring of 1994, during my final semester of college, I took a short story writing course. It sounded like a fun way to end my college experience, and it was. I still remember the stories I told then, and I regretted that I didn’t have a chance to take more fiction writing classes. 24 years later I asked myself, “Could I still do this, . . .
Chapter Eleven
The Thomasville Treasure
With just a few hundred yards left on the trail and sensing they were near the end of their journey, Mike spoke up, “Is Phoebe going to be home?”
Kenny said, “When we got back to where there’s cell service I saw I had a text message from her saying she and the boys are going to be home tonight. I’ll get there in enough time to pick . . .
Chapter Ten
The Thomasville Treasure
“Do you think they’ll be glad to to see us?” Mike asked with a grin as they walked along the path from the Indian Trail to the Monastery front door.
“I have my doubts,” Kenny replied. “I think they’re on their work hours now, so maybe we can find one of them.”
The monastery’s front door was big and heavy, just like the one . . .
Chapter Nine
The Thomasville Treasure
Mike and Kenny squinted at the shape over the town, and although it was swerving both left and right, what started with an unsure dread was becoming a certainty that the monster was moving toward them. Mike said, “It must know we’re getting close to its treasure. It’s coming for us.”
Kenny, “You think this is like the dragon Smaug . . .
Chapter Eight
The Thomasville Treasure
Kenny tightened the waist strap on his backpack and said, “How much farther until we get to the overlook?”
“Dude,” Mike said, “You must have learned complaining from your kids on car trips. I don’t know, a half hour maybe.”
“I don’t want to be setting up camp in the dark.”
“Lay off. We’ll be fine.”
Two . . .