Short Story 500 < 7500

A Day Without Pain

A Day Without Pain

A Hatbox Short by Melanie E.


"It's the least we can do."

That's what they had said when they had come into his hospital room, clipboards in hand and curious, though not unkind, looks in their eyes.

It was natural for those who were healthy to be curious about the dying after all, and that was exactly what he had been doing, slowly and agonizingly, for the last three years.

It had started out innocuously enough, with a twinge in his temple when he would stand up or turn his head too quickly. The twinge had turned to a spike, and the spike into a burning lance, piercing his head with every movement.

For years he had devoted his life to becoming one of the most promising young talents in the computer technology world.

He felt it somewhat ironic that he would die not being able to stand looking at a monitor for more than five minutes without a morphine drip in place.

Grandpa's New Ride


Grandpa's New Ride

by Katie Leone

Grandpa has an old ride, ancient, a relic really; when he decides to change it for a new one, his grandson Scott jumps at the chance to join him at the auction. A fun sci-fi romp by one of BigCloset and DopplerPress's favorite authors.

Lonely Heart

Joanne looked at her watch for the hundredth time and tapped her foot impatiently.

She had been waiting under the clock at the station for twenty minutes. Admittedly, she was a bit early. They had agreed on the telephone that they would meet at eight o’clock and it was still only five to eight.

She glanced at her watch yet again and then looked around; still no sign of anyone looking remotely like Jonathan.

Joanne pulled the well-creased letter out of her handbag and read Jonathan’s description of himself. She knew the words by heart, but a girl has to be sure of her facts.

Six feet one, blue eyes, blond hair, thin and muscular. Joanne’s heart seemed to have half a dozen butterflies in it as it fluttered with anticipation at the coming meeting.

Just then there was a bing-bong from the speaker at the side of the clock.

‘The train just arriving on platform four is the seven thirty from Snoddington. We apologize for its late arrival as there were leaves on the line at Oakton.’

Joanne looked over at the gate where the train had just arrived. The bored ticket collector had woken up, arisen from his little cubbyhole and was standing sleepily at the gate to collect the tickets.

There was a slamming of doors and a great rush at the gates as bemused, bewildered and battered commuters fought their way to be first out of the gate. The ticket collector was nearly knocked over in the stampede, but luckily jumped out of the way just in time.

Joanne looked anxiously at the teeming throng, trying to see if there was a Blond Adonis among the sea of faces.

Just then, a man who looked just the ticket pushed his way through the jostling crowd and headed directly for her.

‘What a hunk,’ thought Joanne enthusiastically.


Charles' mother is a live-in maid for a wealthy widow and her daughter. The daughter overhears Charles talking to his friends, and draws a hasty and wrong conclusion. She decides that "Charlene" needs to be punished for "her" indiscretion.

We come back to Charles twenty-three years later to see how this wrongful conduct changed his life, and what needs to be done with his mental "Residue."

The Ninth Fold

The Ninth Fold

by Angela Rasch

Chapter One

Jenny had been brushing my hair for over ten minutes. Hanging to the middle of my back, it felt sensuous as her soft but insistent caressing lulled me into quiet reflection of the peaceful way of life we had created.

"The strangest thing happened to me after church on Sunday," Jenny said in a wandering voice that told me she was concentrating more on my hair than she was on her words. Jenny had her church and I had mine, which I picked based on its acceptance of transgendered members, even though no one in the congregation knew of my inclinations.

Although I maintained a feminine appearance more often than not, my totally feminine expression occurred only within the confines of our home. When I went out for groceries or other household necessities, I pulled my hair into a low ponytail, wore at least a top layer of male clothing, and removed all my make-up.

Jenny stopped brushing for a few seconds, as if collecting her thoughts had exhausted her energy. "I'd just pulled out of the church parking lot when I heard that bloop-bloop noise police cars make -- you know -- instead of a siren. When I looked in my rearview mirror, all I could see were blinking red and white lights."

Something distracted her. "I absolutely love your new fragrance," she said. She nuzzled my neck from where she sat behind me on the bed. Her nostrils found the spot where I'd placed a small drop of Cashmere Mist. Its subtle, elegant blend of jasmine, lily of the valley, sandalwood, amber, and musk affirmed my self-image.

She buried her nose in my neck and breathed deeply. "You smell like sexy baby powder. I have this over-whelming urge to mother you."

That wasn't exactly the response I'd wanted; I wanted to be ravished.


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