Category Archives: short story

The B-10 Mystery– a short story

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Just before we begin–

this is a piece of fiction that I wrote, and I know  it seems a bit out of character, considering the fact that I usually  just write poetry. However, I was very interested to write this, so I hope you all enjoy!

love,

–GSP

 

PROLOGUE

Nobody lives on on the fourth floor anymore-at least, not after what happened to Mrs. Winters. No, everyone stays an arms length from that thin dusty blue carpet and the doormat in front of apartment B-10 that once bore the strange and unfamiliar word “welcome.” It’s funny people even speak of it now. Most people would just label it as a “convenient superstition”.

PART ONE

Molly strode up The narrow staircase nonchalantly, carrying a rather large and unmarked cardboard box. She was dressed in an out of style Calvin Klein tee shirt, a taupe, knee-length overcoat and perfectly washed, but faded and slightly ripped, designer blue jeans, suggesting that she had once been wealthy but recently lost all of her money.Molly Plunked Down the Package outside of apartment B-10, smiled briefly, then ran down the staircase to the lobby and was gone.

A man at the end of the fourth floor hallway had arrived there accidentally, just as the old building elevator, which often malfunctioned, carried him one floor above his desired destination. He observed Molly walking along the fourth floor with purpose, carrying the box, and suspected her of doing something she ought not to do.
The next morning, the man tiptoed up to the apartment B-10 and realized that the box, and whatever lay inside it, was gone. The man shuddered. He dragged his feet back to his residence, then sauntered through the door, unlocked his desk drawer, picked up a shiny revolver and shot himself. If anyone were to have asked him who took the box before he went back to his apartment, he would never have disclosed what he knew: people have a way of constructing detailed and vivid stories on their own, and have such wild imaginations that it would spoil the fun of explaining it.

 

PART TWO

A small portion of a conversation between a Ms. Hewitt and a  Mrs. Cooke, at seven thirty eastern standard time, Monday, June seventeenth, 1996.

Ms. Hewitt: You know he had a bad day, Maggie! It was bound to be a rash decision!

Mrs. Cooke: No, not the way I saw it. He was pacing around the kitchen table giving me that look. I got so freaking scared,  I–

H: Well don’t you dare blame me, I was the one to get nearly 50 letters from the man,while you sat there at home doing nothing to stop him.

C: Don’t exaggerate.

H: What?

C: I said don’t exaggerate. It’s called a Hyperbole.

H: Yes, we all know you went to grad school, Margaret.

C: He only sent you five letters.

H: More like 20.

C: The point is, I know he hid it from us.

H: So… he had it brought back for…safekeeping?

C: Bingo!

(there is a long pause. Ms. Hewitt breathes heavily)

H: Let me get this straight. Are you telling me that Bas***d had the balls to do PLAN G?!?! Of all the–

C: Nobody has to know!

H: Oh, but they will know, they will Maggie, the second it gets there someone’s gonna go bananas. And if it gets out, It’s gonna be–wait, who did he hire?!

C: Molly

H: Ah Shit! you’ve got to be kidding me!

C: I can always have her let go–

H: No, No! It’s all ruined! she knows too many people…

C: We have it under control.

H: That’s highly doubtful.

C: Beth, we have it under control, okay? I love you but–

H: Yeah, love you too.

C:  What I mean is,  sometimes things don’t  turn out how you want them to. And, I know it’s never getting any better for us, but–

H: You want me to order flowers?

(Long pause)

C: You’d do that for me?

H: Of course.

C: Thank you darling.

H: Not a problem. Call me if anything else goes wrong in the next 24 hours, which I’m sure it will.

C: That I will do.

H: well, so long for now.

C: so long.

Copyright 2014 Golden Star Poetry

 

 

 

Stream of consciousness # 12

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the fondest
expression
like the lightening bugs you catch in your hand
this lost finger this lost hand
this little ember and this tramp
this little ember and this lost lamp
this frog and this water and this
and all of this at the same tense time
the bug on your shoulder sleeps softly and hums to the banner
the stars spangle
and the night hums
and the machine drums
the night air warms you and rouses you to an upright position
you cant sleep
i cant sleep
the coffee cant boil
the slippery soil
is to deep
i cant sleep
you cant sleep-
why take the sleeping pills?
there is the nature frond
this erstwhile pine
the grubby tree
the coffee tea
like and lake and sun and bake
creep soft and slow
lightening bug
catch me fast
light from the lightening i can finally
finally see your face.
what a while its been
i didn’t realize i missed you.

night comes:
we have to talk about the nighttime.

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

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I can’t remember the words…well, now it’s just a jumble

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you can talk to me as if I was your mother blasting around the room with a big hose saying
you can get out of here but I’m still your mother and you still have to listen to me no matter what. When you look at the stars and realize that no one going to hurt you and your problem isn’t there and the leaves are not gray, they’re green
and green houses are painted orange actually
and you want to go on the edge of the mountain
Yummy look at those gummy worms I want to eat each everyone of them now I’m going to pick them up and act like I am five
you want to be 86 why do you want to be five? I want to be five because I have Always wanted to be five and now look at me I’m five and I can eat more than you do because you don’t have teeth you have gums.

light finder, come to the water,
make me your man
and play the tin can
and drum the pan pan
and sing the unsang
and ring all that’s rang
and I’l be the yin to your yang:
just don’t do all that godforsaken mumble
or the odd unprecedented jumble
don’t expect all the light
we expect you to humble