Short Stories Read online

SHORT STORIES

  by

  James M. Britvich

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Short Stories

  Copyright © 2010 by James M. Britvich

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Short Stories

  Table of Contents

  Alphabet Soup

  Options After Death

  Last Man Killed

  Gunfight at the Okey-Dokey Corral

  The Last Voyage

  Short-short Movie

  The Hammer

  Tibetan Monk

  Fruity-veggie Story

  The Train Wreck

  The Bridge

  Slaughter on Elm Street

  The Bank Job

  Fowl Play

  Death in Slo-Mo

  Alphabet Soup

  Three friends are having lunch at a local diner. All three order a sandwich and soup. The soup of the day is alphabet. All have their soup first. On his second spoonful, Carl notices the letters of Dr. Sam have formed. He says, "That would be my doctor, Doctor Samuels. This must be an omen". Carl had a biopsy done on a small tumor on his neck last week. He gets a call on his cell phone. It's from Doctor Sam's office. The results came out benign.

  Leo dips into his soup, and the letters forming the word 'winner' are displayed on his spoon. Leo always buys lotto tickets. He pulls out his tickets from his wallet. John grabs the morning "Sentinel" He hands Leo the lotto listing. Going through the numbers, one ticket has 4 correct number, worth close to a thousand bucks.

  All being excited now, they anxiously wait for John's message. He dips into the soup and comes up with his word. Carl looks at it, and quietly says, "Bummer". The word is..... 'death'. All heave a sigh of depression. John dumps the word back into the bowl. He stirs up the soup, and scoops up another spoonful. This time the word is ..... 'soon'.

  Within five seconds, a man burst into the diner, brandishing a snub nosed gun. He aims at the man sitting next to John, while saying, "You've screwed me for the last time, you bastard". The targeted man lunges off his stool at the gunman. The gunman fires, missing his target, but hitting John in the chest. John clutches his chest while collapsing to the floor. His dying words were, "I'll never order alphabet soup again".

  Options After Death

  What really happens right after death? Supposedly, we go before the MAN (St. Peter). He looks at our rap sheet, then decides which line we stand in to spend eternity — heaven or hell.

  Don't I get some say in the matter? My scariest nightmare is having a celestial committee arrange some entertainment for us while waiting our turn to see the MAN. The same ones who arrange time-killers during halftime at sporting venues.

  A whole bunch of new inmates who, very recently went through the Pearly Gates, got to choose either of two instruments to play for eternity — a harp or a trumpet. Those who picked harps, don't know how to pluck 'em. It will be like listening to a bunch of Japanese samisens (a three stringed instrument) played off-key, for ever and ever. They should be plucking chickens instead. Nice and quiet. Plus, they'd have all those feathers to recycle into wings.

  The other choice is even worse. To cut down on cost, the trumpet will be the cheap Red Chinese plastic variety, coated with bright lead paint. While waiting in line, I will have to listen to these morons try to 'out-noise' each other. I couldn't stand the continuous blaring of those plastic trumpets, for the two hours while watching international soccer matches between the U.S. and Mexico on cable TV. I will remember how many times, if I had a screwdriver handy, I would have jammed it in through my eardrums.

  More entertainment. For added torture, the singing would be done only by yodelers.

  Pass. Hand me a coal shovel and tell me “to go to hell”. Maybe, I'll even meet Sam McGee down there. As a bonus, I still will be able to listen to, and tell, dirty jokes.

  The Last Man Killed...

  Captain Leo Spangler is retiring after 46 years on the police force. He is in a one-on-one interview with Channel 12's Bobby Carpell, on his 'Our Town, Our People' Sunday morning show. During the interview, Captain Spangler noted that he joined the force in 1950, and became a detective in 1955. Towards the end of the interview, Bobby asks the Captain what the most bizarre case he had during his career.

  "That's easy", says Leo. The oddest case I ever had, was in my first year as a detective. It had gone unsolved for 35 years. It finally got solved only because of DNA, in 1991. According to the curator, Samual Glass, the incident happened on or about August 28, 1956. Carl Benson went to the local Art Gallery two or three times a week. He usually spent an hour or so, on each visit.

  The curator talked with Mr. Benson on his every visit. Even if it was just a "Hi, nice to see you, Carl". Mr. Benson got particularly excited when a series of new paintings arrived. He was an amateur painter himself, and was fond of studying color formations and brushstrokes.

  Towards the end of February, in one of his talks with Samual, Mr. Benson mentioned that, on a lark, he visited a fortune-teller on his way to the gallery. "She gazed into her crystal ball, and said with a straight face, 'you are going to be killed by a saber-tooth tiger'". I tried to stifle a smirk at her, but couldn't. "You know they've been extinct for about ten thousand years now, don't you?" Again, with a straight face, she repeated her predication. "Still, I'm going to avoid any big statues of them, just in case one may topple on me", Carl said with a laugh.

  "That is strange, at least the timing", said Sam, "I just found out this morning that in August, we're getting a series of 'extinct animals' set up. Mr. Benson was doubly excited, noted Sam Glass. A new exhibit, and that era of historical animals fascinated him more than dinosaurs did. Mastodons, saber-toothed tigers, short-faced bear and other North America extinct animals.

  On Friday, August 24th , the exhibit opened. Carl Benson was at the gallery as the doors opened. He immediately went to the extinct animal section; and spent more time than usual on this exhibit, three to four hours a day.

  "Tuesday, the 28th ,at about 10 am, I had to leave because I wasn't feeling well. I said 'good-bye' to Carl and left the gallery", Sam told me.

  "That's the last time I saw him." I had to take Wednesday off too. Thursday morning at 9:00, no Carl. Unusual. I went to the 'exhibit', since Carl spent all his time there since last Friday.

  The saber-toothed tiger painting intrigued him the most. I went there first. Sam thought to himself, 'I know this is so far-fetched; but remembering his encounter with fortune-teller, I examined the tiger very closely. On its teeth were bloodstains I didn't remember seeing before. Below the painting, I noticed a very small pool of blood.'

  That's when Sam called the police department, and Captain Sardino assigned me to the case.

  We did a thorough investigation. We had very little clues though. No patrons saw him after Sam left for the day on Tuesday. Other than the bloodstains, we had nothing. We kept the blood
sample in the unsolved section of the evidence room. We never found the body, not even shreds of it.

  After the DNA identified the blood sample as belonging to Carl Benson, I checked the death certificate. Since the body was never found, the death certificate notation for 'Probable Cause of death', was: Unknown.

  Gunfight at the Okey-Dokey Corral

  The two sides slowly approach each other. Four on each side. From their snarling sneers, and the smoldering looks in the eyes, this gunfight was for real. It had been coming to a head for some time now.

  The non-players started scattering out of the way. With no signal given, one side took it on itself to start ablazing. Smoke belched from the guns, twelve in all. Some of the gunmen preferred using a single gun, while fanning the hammer for quicker release of shots.

  Through the smoke, you could barely see bodies fall to the ground. It was over in less than ten seconds. Most of the bodies were lifeless. A few twisted, as if in great pain. No one spoke.

  Then a voice from the main