FIFTY WORD STORY – The Interview

The ticking of the clock was incessant. Every second echoed in Jim’s head like footsteps down an empty hallway. Every shifting seat; every squeaking shoe rattled in his ears. His knee trembled like a spooked horse, trying to escape. Then they called him, and he was off to the races.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

Advertisements

COFFEE SHOP

I really like coffee shops. Not really the coffee, but the smell of a French roast in the early morning, along with the crackle of the pastries being torn to bits by customers as they rush off to work. The coffee grounds rinsing down the drain, the boiling water, and the steaming milk all add a special chaos that is seen nowhere outside a kindergarten classroom, and the coffee shop.

I started going in the mornings for a barista I met named Stacy. Stacy wore her nametag over her left breast because she loved her job. She said that her day was made when she brought the hollow black eyes of tired workers life. My day was made at 7:30 am, two and a half hours after she put the first pot on, when the chime of the doorbells caused her to look up from the cup she was at. It was as though a rainbow had been caught in the sunlight, and the whole café reflected her color.

Of course, that was a decade ago. Now I just go in the morning, sip a cup of tea, and read the newspaper until the bus arrives. The driver, Mike, knows me by name, but he took to calling me James a few years back. He overheard a passenger say I looked like Daniel Craig, and that made him laugh so hard he had to get off the bus for a rest stop. We sat there for fifteen minutes, awkwardly waiting for his scraggly gray beard to make it’s way back through the doors.

Some people might be worried someone would run off with their bus, but not Mike. Everyone knows Mike’s bus. It’s the only one with paint so faded that the company’s label is gone. They asked Mike to replace it, but Mike’s been there too long. Nobody tells Mike what to do with his bus.

And then it’s time to get off the bus. Brief case in hand, I step through the doorway of the glass door of the office. And who is there to greet me? Stacy. You can’t let your sunshine stray too far over the horizon, can you? I picked up Stacy, and she quickly outgrew her role as secretary. She stepped over me, and then over the CEO, but she still comes around to giggle at my salt and pepper hair in the morning. Our matching rings don’t hurt either. That’s the new nine to five for me, and I can’t say it doesn’t feel right.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

LETTERS TO MY BOSS – FIFTY WORD STORY

I carried the boxes. I wiped the sweat as it dripped from my dirt-riddled brow—yet it was you who carried the weight of the vacations. The sunny beaches were your burden to bear; plagued by the pains of having to shake sand from your sandals before reentering your suite.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

IN THE RAIN

To the man on Main Street sitting in the rain

waiting for the second bus of the day to drive though

might I ask you why you brought a little purple umbrella

if you didn’t intend to open it for your protection?

 

Why is it curled up beneath your brown coat,

as though it were made to take the bus to work

for another long day bent over a steel bench

and you were meant to catch the raindrops?

 

You don’t even pause as you leave

when the pool of water pours from your hat to the ground

to think that there may have been some savior

sitting right beside you, waiting for its turn to help.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this poem? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

LAKESIDE (AND OTHER HAIKUS)

Dreamers

Up rose the sunlight

and with it the burdened arms

of bygone dreamers.

 

Sunset Shift

Not many saw him

sweeping under the benches

in the orange sunsets.

 

Domestication

If only the tears

could be managed with make up

as the bruises were.

 

Beach Walks

Bits of green sea glass

greet the sun as emeralds

gleaming in the sand.

 

Lakeside

The mush of brown mud

swallows my toes in the lake

as I amble in.

——

Hello there!

Did you like these poems? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

THE TALE OF THE MISSING TOOTH – 50 WORD STORY

When the little bug crawled out of his hole in the dirt, he saw the skull-house he had built was missing a tooth. The bones had long since decayed, so he wasn’t surprised at his lost treasure, but when he realized his mornings’ wouldn’t shine golden anymore, he was bitter.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

PICKING PLUMS

Five women were picking plums from the ground. Four were doing the actual work. They were carrying swollen bags of fruit, bent over to pile more on top. One, presumably the hardest worker, had already abandoned her bag and was continuing to catch the remaining morsels in her apron. Two others had wandered off in the distance as the plums became harder and harder to find. The fourth was grabbing the last few in the foreground, when she happened upon a sullen, black rock.

The fifth woman was standing with a platter in the center of it all. She was dressed differently than the rest. Her apron was white, and where the others wore a red over-coat, she bore no such garment. Her eyes darted between the women, but returned to the girl standing in the foreground. Her face was a mix of contempt and anguish, as if the girl had done something to wrong her that she couldn’t speak of in front of the rest of the women.

The platter she carried was a small, black platter, perhaps of well-polished, painted wood, or porcelain. It contained plums that looked similar to what the other women were picking, yet they appeared to be the deep color of overripe fruit and, perhaps, were for reference only.

I liked to think, as I passed by, that she was the headmaster’s wife. She was angry at this girl for having slept with the master, and had taken her anger out on her group of maids as a whole. In the heat of day, she had forced them to pick bags and bags of fruit—so many that they had run out of the massive bags, and yet still she made them relentlessly continue. It looked as though they had picked the orchard nearly clean, too. I think they would have kept picking too, had things not changed as I walked out of view.

A sharp cry echoed from behind me, followed by the soft thumps of a dozen or so fruit. I heard footsteps rushing through the woods, then a heavy thud of a rock against something. The footsteps stopped. Two, three, four more times the rock came down, and with each thud emerged a sickening crunch.

When I finally decided to turn back, the grove had been emptied. No bags were anywhere to be seen, nor any women, though there were two patches of plums. The first was far in the distance, where the two women had gone off in search of more. It appeared they had dropped a small handful from their bags as they left, which had rolled harmlessly for a few feet before stopping. The second patch was less fortunate. A dozen plums, much deeper purple, had smashed onto the ground; splattering across the floor. The pulp and juice seeped from beneath the little heads, creating a pool of matter that mixed in with the dirt as they rotted.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

HEADLIGHTS

The road had become so routine that my half-closed eyes hardly noticed the flickering of my headlights. So too did they miss the tankard smashing through the center divider; straight into the car behind me. Nor did they attend to the bloody arm reaching for help as I drove away.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

A RICH LIFE

I have always had a strong imagination. When I was a child, there were nights where I would lie in bed, waiting for sleep to claim me, with more vivid fantasies about knights and magicians than the dreams that would follow. On the walk to school every morning, I would picture the world coming to an end in a new way, just to pass the time (and, perhaps, in hopes that I could somehow make the school explode).

Until one day I realized that I had to move on. The perfectly detailed gun battles, the stealth missions against giant aliens, the jumps from thousand foot buildings with a parachute—they all were too little for me. I started spending my time on schoolwork. Instead playing clips of unwritten movies in my head at night, I passed out with a pen in hand and a notebook under my head.

I got a degree in finance, and was set up with a steady job. The office walls had that dirty, faded white color that looks simultaneously unfinished and ancient. Things were pretty good. During my breaks, I got a brief moment to myself to breathe. I usually spent this time picturing what it would be like if I were outside, but company policy was that all breaks not spent on the can were to be spent in the break room. Then it was back to the tip-tap­ of the keyboard.

And that was twenty-five years gone. Nothing changed. The occasional pay raise kept me feeling humble about myself, while the company’s profits quintupled under a budget plan I had proposed. They even offered me full health insurance coverage—and I mean FULL. They even scheduled check ups for me, I was considered that important to the company. Plus, the big guys said they could write off any costs anyway.

Then the day came where the check up didn’t go so well. It was an overcast day, with the sun just barely peeking out from behind the clouds. The doctors’ office was colder than it was outdoors. I came in for a routine check up, which I had once a year, and the doctor found a strange clump in my chest. The tests came back a week later, and they told me it was breast cancer. It had progressed fast, too, and was likely to begin impacting my health seriously within the next two months.

The company gave me leave—something that came marking both my twenty-fifth anniversary with the company, and the tenth year since they monopolized the market (of course, in America they can’t call it that, but the results were the same). I went to Spain, to Germany, and a load of other countries to try to clear my head. The head of the Euro branch of affairs found me a top-notch place to stay at, and I began to burn through my hefty savings.

One night, I took a break from the parties and the escapes, and went to bed early. I was nostalgic about my life. I had called family, friends, and even past co-workers about my conditions. My childhood memories of imagining things before bed came back to me, and I closed my eyes to picture myself in a meadow. It started well, but soon I had lost myself in a story about beautiful queens and valorous knights.

And it struck me that I had never been valorous. There was no adventure to my life. Sure, I was frequenting the top of the top in society, but the blow was hardly fulfilling anymore. There were no roadside breakdowns. No struggles. No victories. Just fun. So much fun, that it didn’t feel special anymore.

The next day I took a walk through the street market. An old couple was deciding between two vegetables, while a child ran from his parents in ragged clothes. They all had such smiles on their faces. They had made it. No, they weren’t spraying champagne into crowds of cheering faces, or sleeping with gorgeous models, but they had the heart-wrenching expressions just the same.

I walked my way up through a cobblestone tower with a name I couldn’t pronounce and looked out over the world. It was a misty day, with just enough fog to coat the horizon, but not so much to cover the city. They didn’t have ledge guards here—if you fell, you fell. And as I stood there, I pictured the life I could have had. I could have ditched that class, went on that hike, or went to that dinner. Maybe then, I wouldn’t be standing where I was now—rich, famous, and utterly alone.

And I jumped.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha

DROPPED NUTS

Ok, I’ll take a break from 50 word stories for at least a week after this one:

Wandering through the park to work, I came across a dead squirrel at the base of a tree. He had slipped from a branch while retrieving nuts, and crashed headfirst into a massive root. His head had split open, and the nuts that had distracted him were soaked in blood.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this story? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

Want to keep up-to-date on all my posts? Follow my blog!

Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

Feel free to share any of my work!

 

You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

Twitter: @cassady_orha

Facebook: @cassadyorha