Tag Archives: Short Stories


Once upon a time, I set my sights upon a little known professional internship. The below link is the short, short script sample I wrote with a limited amount of words allowed to convey a full short story and based on a prompt about an infamous Captain.

Little Sparrow


Sleep tight for me, I’m gone.



It started out like any other day at The Greasy Burger. Jake, Dave, Ryan and Val stood around, chatting about being bored and what their weekend plans were, as they waited for lunch rush.

The main dining room was clean, bathrooms were pristine, all the condiments were filled, including a bin overflowing with packages of butter medallions. The soda fountain percolated with fresh carbonation canisters and the ice machine was filled to the brim. They were ready. Ready for battle.

As the first few hungry customers filtered in, Ryan leaned over to Val and whispered he hoped the lunch crowd would only take condiments they needed. He oversaw refilling them and witnessed customers leave piles of ketchup packets or butter on the table every…single…day. It infuriated Ryan because he would have to throw out unused packages merely because they had been removed from the bin. He thought it was a huge waste.

Kristi, the manager, stood gallantly off to the side, watching her strategically placed staff as they began to service more hungry patrons. Jake and Ryan took their stance at the cash registers while Dave and Val worked feverishly in the back fulfilling orders.

Within an hour, the crew was inundated and The Greasy Burger was filled to capacity. Kristi noticed they were busier than usual but her staff seemed amped and ready to go. Dave and Val were bouncing on the balls of their feet as if about to perform a tag-team wrestling match on WWE.

Beads of sweat dripped from Jake’s pulsating temples. Kristi spoke into her intercom, directing Dave to swap positions with Jake. Dave jumped up, smacked his hands together with over-enthusiastic excitement and tapped Jake on the shoulder, signaling he was ready to take over.

People stood shoulder-to-shoulder as the lines became longer and tighter. Customer complaints that began as a whisper intensified into a rumbling moan. A large man at the center yelled as he was nearly hit in the face by another man who was fervently waving a piece of paper around in the air. The paper-waving man hollered back. A woman behind him passively told him to “shut up,” while others began to push their way forward, shoving and shoulder checking one another like a mosh pit. When the paper-flailing man finally reached the front of Ryan’s line, his eyes scowled like a beast about to pounce on his prey. He slammed his receipt onto the counter.

Ryan leaned in to listen to the man’s complaint over the mob. The receipt wielding man’s accent was so thick, Ryan could barely make out his complaint about receiving a wrong order. He diligently reviewed the receipt and remembered entering it into the system. Ryan tried to explain he had given him exactly what he ordered, but the man’s rage boiled over as he shouted and pounded his fists on the counter, making it harder for Ryan to decipher the man’s words. Ryan’s chest heaved with each quickened explanation, his voice becoming louder as his impatience grew.

Kristi walked over to Ryan’s cash register to gauge the situation. Another customer began to shout about empty condiments. Ryan’s eyes twitched.  Jake bounced over like he was on a springy mat and tapped Ryan on the shoulder. Ryan clapped his hands together and swiped them out like a blackjack dealer walking away with clean hands and made his way to refill the condiments.

Across from the order counter, as he was filling condiments, Ryan heard Kristi shout for him to return to the register. She seemed angry.

“Do you want me on condiments or on the register?” he snipped at her.

Ryan quickly filled what condiments he could, then squeezed his way back through the crowd and stood next to Jake still working with the same disgruntled customer.

Ryan waved his hands in the air, “Look! I can’t understand what you’re saying!”

Before Kristi could intervene, Ryan reached into his apron pocket, grabbed a handful of packets he had left from refiling the condiment bin, tossed them at the man and said “Here! Have some butter!”


Sleep tight for me!



Sometimes there just is no logical explanation for the things that go bump in the night…unless it’s all in your head. Or, is it?

I have to admit. This story has been in my head for a long, long time. It has gone through numerous revisions and title changes. I have struggled to find the best way to tell the idea that swims in there, toying with me like a killer clown illuminated by a dim street light.  That is what keeps me up at night.

Blank Spaces

Sleep tight for me, I’m gone.


zombie-979358_1280After a horrible family tragedy, Aliyah keeps herself hidden and glued to her studies until her friends cajole and dare her into a night of drinking and urban exploring to redeem her tarnished reputation and prove the legends and hauntings of the house on East Wind Road are untrue.

The spirit of the house awakens with a vengeance after the group reads from a forbidden book, written by a mysterious and missing author, leaving Aliyah to discover how to purge the evil but becomes the victim of her own devices.

If you dare, click the link below to read the short screenplay. But, beware what lurks in the corner shadows.

East Wind Road

Sleep tight for me!


ThistleAt long last, I’m posting the screenplay I wrote as an animated short about Black Thumb Merrie’s perils as a reluctant gardener and her battle with nature. Follow her on her journey as she goes from a bubbly new homeowner ready to tackle yard maintenance and beautification to a crazed, accidental murderer of innocent foliage.

The Reluctant Gardener

Sleep tight for me, I’m gone.


soul-746560_1280The Portrait is a short, short story where nothing is what it seems. It is the first script I have done–no, I take that back. I did one other one. It was an epic fail and a horrible, gruesome experience (mainly because I didn’t know what I was doing and struggled against the structural change from standard prose). Now that I’ve learned a few things, the whole process was less traumatic. Hopefully, I have  not become as delusional as I hope my character is.

By technicality, the story is explicit (but maybe in a PG-13 sort of way, in my opinion). Click the link below to read the story and feel free to leave a comment and/or feedback.

The Portrait


Sleep tight!





The rain began after dusk. Vibrant golden-yellow, blaze-orange and blood-red leaves Karen had carefully raked into piles on her lawn became wilted masses of dull, brownish-gray, soaked mush. Through misty haze, the lights of every house on the block shimmered, beckoning neighborhood children to beg for candy in costumes that were pulled over thick layers of clothing that made them look like tiny Stay Puft Marshmallow men in disguise.

As temperatures plummeted, dagger-like icicles hung from power lines overhead, threatening to impale passersby and moaned like ghosts creeping in castle corridors as the wind brushed against them. Tree limbs encased in a glassy sheath howled as they buckled under the weight, snapping the icy black cables below like brittle twigs. Lights out.

Karen paced in front of her picture window, biting her nails, as she searched for any sign ten-year-old Adeline would return from trick-or-treating. The street was dark. She was nowhere in sight.

The icy-rain turned to sparkly white flakes that quickly drifted into deep mounds. Just as Karen decided to pull on her winter coat, she noticed Adeline trudging up the driveway’s small incline, struggling against the slick slab hidden underneath fresh powder, dragging her pillowcase full of candy sullenly behind her.

The blistering wind had whipped Adeline’s cheeks. A single, hot tear trickled from the corner of her right eye at the sight of her mother racing to her rescue. They crashed into each other and slid into a pile of snow.

“Mommy, can you come home now?” she asked softly, looking up at Karen with the same big, innocent brown eyes as she did the day she was born.

“We are home,” Karen replied, cradling Adeline in her arms.

“I want you to come home. I’m cold,” she whined.

The wet, heavy snow quickly deepened as the atmosphere above cracked open with a thunderous bolt of electricity that spider-webbed across the night sky.  Karen leapt to her feet, but her legs slid out from under her.

“Mommy, stay with me,” Adeline begged.

Karen’s eyebrows dipped. Why would she say that? she wondered as she continued to pull at Adeline’s arms.

“Help me get you out,” Karen pleaded. “You have to try.”

“Mommy! Where are you?!” Adeline shrieked, clawing at the snow filling in around her face.

“I’m right here,” she said sharply.

The smoke-like plume of Karen’s breath clung to the air as her lungs heaved. Her fingers, blackened from frostbite, stiffened as she vied for a better grip. Adeline sunk deeper, plunging Karen forward.

Another, sudden, deep boom tore through the night sky. Thick flakes floated weightlessly in the air, speckling Karen’s hair, as she sunk her head low and stared into frosty crystals etching across Adeline’s eyes. She wrapped her arms tightly around her child and sobbed. Adeline was a ridged and lifeless little goblin.

“You stayed!” Adeline blurted.

Karen gasped. She could see their bodies buried beneath snow and ice.

“Are you warm now?”

“Yes,” Adeline replied.

“Good. Me too. Let’s go home.”