Category Archives: Short Stack

“Alright!  Which one of you butt-fucking monkeys want it first?”  They all turned and there was this old man standing in the doorway holding a broomstick in one hand, and a slab of beef in the other.  It was fresh meat and it dripped to the hardwood floor. “You shut up!” the bartender yelled, “And...
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“It’s three in the morning. Are you drunk?” Larry asked me. “No, I just had to talk to someone and couldn’t think of anyone else,” I replied with desperation. “Can’t this wait until the morning, dude?” Larry asked, “I have to get up in six hours for work.” He sounded angry, but mostly tired so...
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With his back against the door, Mark looked down at his hands and took a much needed breath. “Not again, what the fuck.” Mark gasped, “Not again, not again, what the fuck is wrong with me?” Mark was twenty-eight. Mark was self employed. Mark rarely slept. All of this factored into his growing problem. His...
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The Chief of Police popped on his desk lamp and pulled out his chair. It was one of those great old companions—the chair that’s been around the seasons, watched the changing of the times, and it makes the sound of a great beast exhaling slowly when you sit. The Chief pulled himself into his desk....
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The buildings burned and the flames slithered inside of black smoke.  It all danced as it formed thick tufts that disappeared into the sky.  The customers from the supermarket across the street watched with urgency.  “Look how high the flames are growing,” one woman said.  The sirens were steadily on their way.  The breeze pushed...
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“You lost your only friend.” –End of messages. I sat and stared at the answering machine. I knew the voice; that was the voice that had helped me out in many situations. The message informed me that my confidant was gone. I lost my support, and now I felt lost. Two years prior to that...
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As the night goes on you have those moments (as a smoker) where you constantly check your cigarette pack. Many will try to regulate their smoking and drinks. One might smoke a cigarette with every drink, others will have their drinks and binge smoke outside of the bar. Either way you do it makes no...
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He has his hand around my throat.  I look into his eyes and I can see my eyes.  The whiskey between us is almost out.  He says to me, “I am your father.  I’m holding you by your umbilical cord.”  His grip is gentle.  He may just be drunk. He hasn’t told me his name....
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“That’s not what it’s fuckin’ about,” Eric replied,”You make those damn assumptions like you know what the fuck you’re talking about. Fuck you, you egotistical piece of shit.” And now I was in play. I knew I made Eric Vulnerable, and I felt at ease. My goal now was to constantly poke fun at him....
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The alarm again.  Another reminder you’re a slave to something. Steve rolls over and searches in the dark for his phone.  The alarm tone he chose was the most irritating he could find–some medley of pop songs from today’s generation that he didn’t even know the names of played on a generic electric piano.  And...
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The bar was called Knotts Hammer, but it should have been called Purgatory, what with the sense of indefinite staleness it held for all its patrons. John and I sat there in our stools, staring ahead, often glancing at ESPN on the overhead flat screen to view the baseball scores and eventually some fishing show...
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The fire had been burning for a few hours. Dan hated building fires, but he was very good at keeping them lit. It was shown to him when he was a child. His father taught him how to build the perfect fire. His father was a carpenter, which was ironic in Dan’s eyes, because his...
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“What’s that for?” Willard asked. “My wife,” said George.  “I’m going to kill my wife.” They stood there at the corner outside of the Sunken Steam and waited for traffic to lighten on a Wednesday afternoon.  The heat was swelling all around them.  George stared straight ahead; his mind was off somewhere else.  Willard couldn’t...
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This guy by the name of Bosco called me up.  I didn’t recognize the number but I answered anyway. “Hello?” “Dave, I know what we have to do.” “Yeah?  What’s that?” “We gotta go to the cemetery and dig up Bukowski.” I was halfway out of bed and not ready for this. “What the fuck...
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