The Artist Twins The Unknown Civilian The Performer The Salesman The Saviours
Daddy's Home The Dreamer The Collector Return to previous page...
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Excerpts from Subway Shorts
The following are excerpts from the short stories contained in the Subway Shorts collection.
Possibly you've met some of these people - in one time or another
The Artist
She removed the crimson-soaked scarf from her slit wrist and sourced another flow of blood onto the most precious of her lordship's many treasures. As it settled in the vicinity of the fire's hearth, she pressed a thumb firmly on each drop thus leaving the only signature she had.
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Twins
I didn't feel my knees strike the floor. My body was numb. My brain throbbed with excruciating pain. The prison guard dragged me up and propelled me into the cell. My legs wavered. No support. My palms slapped the concrete floor.
"Come on lady, it isn't that bad," the guard said. "You'll get used to them."
The heavy door slid into place with a thud. I shivered at the sound.
"I'll never get used to them," I said, sobbing.
Hopelessness choked out my voice. My eyes struggled to contain the tears as another surge of fear wrapped in hate, screamed inside of me.
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The Unknown Civilian
Every so slowly, I reach back into my pocket. A predator always moves slowly before it pounces on its prey. I know, I used to watch the old tom work the fields; I used to watch soldiers move through the streets. Ever so slowly, I squeeze the deadly cold metal in my pocket. The truck is getting closer, its khaki hood hot and smooth. I can see beyond the cab now. The back of the truck is open, its camouflage-patterned canvas pushed up to the cab. That's good. Soldiers, I guess a dozen are sitting in the back, although I can make out only a few from here, their backs to me, their hats shading them from the sun.
I remove the pear-shaped weapon from my pocket. Like a marriage vow, my finger slips into the metal ring.
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The Performer
Marie-Fleuri was the only one who had ever heard it; at least she suspected she was. On a dreary and hazy night, she had stumbled into the back door of the concert hall looking for shelter. Having uncharacteristically imbibed several pints of beer herself, she had outmanoeuvred the unwanted advances of several male customers, and wound up staggering down an alley. Seeking a place of rest away from the mist that chilled what little flesh cloaked her bones, she entered the first unlocked door she found. She hadn't really known where she was, nor had she cared. It was dry, relatively warm, and there was the faintest thread of beautiful music wafting in the air. She followed the sound through several dim halls until she found herself in the wings of a large stage. There in the middle was a man, a bold, beautiful man in formal dress, obviously a gentleman. It was from him that the music was coming. Somehow she knew it was from him, not his instrument; that was simply the outlet....
...When the end came, he bowed deeply and then rising, stared out from the stage. A woman stood in the shadows. He was puzzled. He was, to be sure, upset. Who was she...and how dare she? This music was not for anyone's ears but his. For several seconds he did not speak. He could not speak. He would not allow himself to speak, for the words that would have ensued would have been unfitting for anyone but the devil to hear.
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The Salesman
As he started back down the path, he saw it again, a brief flash of gold, maybe three yards away. Precision aside, Hank took two giant steps into the low shrubs. He parted some leaves, and there it hung, a delicate lady's wrist watch suspended by its open clasp. He reached down to grab it when something else came into view. Directly below the watch, as if reaching up to retrieve it, were slender pale fingers.
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The Saviours
His best friend had told him about it. Clay remembered laughing at Jimmy. White people, help a slave? You been into some o' the master's hooch, Clay had said. But then he overheard his master and the sheriff talk about that same railroad, how it needed to be shut down before things got worse, how another slave had escaped. The sheriff was planning to get some men together to cross the state line and burn the place down.
It was that evening, a week ago, creeping away from them on his hands and knees, that Clay decided he better find that railway station before they did. When we went back to ask Jimmy what else he knew about the underground railroad, Clay wasn't laughing anymore.
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Daddy's Home
Carly watched the scene unfold inside her mind, another movie that wasn't supposed to be played anymore. The judge's words had locked it away and there it had sat almost forgotten - almost, but never quite. It seemed so long since then, months perhaps, and she had truly believed the judge's words would make a difference. She had believed she would never see this again.
In spite of her efforts to will it away, the scene slithered out from a corner of Carly's mind. She knew exactly what was happening in the front hall below her.
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The Dreamer
She laughed, held my eyes with hers, and then tossed mine away with a roll and a blink. Ouch.
She headed up the road toward Benny's Emporium. And what did I do? I stood on the curb, like a statue waiting for pigeons, watching her walk out of my life.
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The Marksman
Two of the bandana clad youths were lying on the pavement, one motionless in a pool of blood, one twitching and moaning beside him. Two others were running up the street chasing the Mercedes, their drawn guns spitting bullets.
A fifth kid was running in the opposite direction straight towards Simon and Samantha. His head was turned way from them as he fired wildly at the receding Mercedes. Simon tried to pull Sam out of his path, The youth collided into them. His gun continued to spew bullets.
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The Collector
She brightened up a bit. "I haven't given up on Rick, though, I'm giving him one more chance."
"Are you crazy? You said he hit you?"
"Well, he tried to, but he was drunk. He gets a little obnoxious when he's drunk."
"It sounds to me like he's always drunk."
"He says he likes kids. As long as he cleans up his act, it might work. He told me he's going to quit drinking."
"Right, and I'm the Virgin Mary," Fran said.
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