73 Short Stories

by ahorsewithnoname

©Copyright 2017-2024 ahorsewithnoname

The following are 73 short stories, each close to, or less than, 1,000 words each. Each of these were entered in a writing competition that capped the words at, you got it, 1,000 words.

Over the past 7 years, I've written 73 short stories for writing competitions, having placed (1st/2nd/3rd) in 39 of them. About half are erotic. They are ALL at or under 1,000 words, as that was a rule. So, a bunch of short stories that will make you laugh, make you cry, make you go WTF? Hard to go wrong with this many short stories for just a few bucks.

Table of Contents

The 18 Winners . . .

Best Ride Ever - Erotic
So, some old guys are at a carnival, and there are teen girls. What could go wrong?

Control Magic - Non-Erotic
A little bit of romance emerges at a Magic: The Gathering tournament.

Friends With Benefits - Non-Erotic
Creepy Halloween story about a man, a van, and a teen girl.

The Fourth of the Ninth - Non-Erotic
Playing ches with a good friend during "retirement." What the hell could be better?

The Fourth of May - Non-Erotic
Fifty plus years ago, shots rang out and now, fifty years later, payment was rendered.

Gloria Hole - Erotic
Tricks played on a young man, but in the, he wins!

Hot Child in the City - Erotic
A lucky day for one young lady of the evening.

Missing You - Non-Erotic
An emotional scream for someone missing.

My First Time - Erotic
A young military man loses his virginity.

The Natural - Erotic
A chance meeting, no, wait, not chance at all, leads to fulfillment.

The Red, White, and Blue Club - Erotic
Not quite All-American as the title suggests, a bit tricky.

Rotten Joe & Savvy Sally - Non-Erotic
A smart young woman makes an amazing discovery about her brother.

Saving Grace - Non-Erotic
He saves a young woman from committing suicide, yet . . .

Stronger Than You - Non-Erotic
Story of a young boy with Lou Keemia (sic) calling out God.

The Sun'll Come Our Tomorrow - Erotic
Set in World War Two Japan, a fictional account of nonconsensual abuse by Japanese hierarchy.

The Triangle - Erotic
The Bermuda Triangle, a group of teens, and a sailboat. What could go wrong?

Trick or Treat - Non-Erotic
Budding romance set in Hawaii with a bit of a twist.

The 55 Other Stories . . .

Ackk - Non-Erotic
Sooooooo many puns in this Christmas story.

Airhead Inbred Redhead Coed Said Brain-Dead Misled by Red Dot of Widespread Dead - Erotic
A conspiracy between a factory worker and a doctor; does it work?

Alive - Non-Erotic
An unusual drive down memory lane for a stricken man.

Always in the Details - Non-Erotic
If you could travel back in time to prevent something tragic, what event would you choose?

American Genocide - Non-Erotic
With time, literally, running out, an author races to finish a masterpiece.

An American Revolution - Erotic
The love of a good woman points the author in the correct direction.

And Still, It Rains - Non-Erotic
A large predator had survived many seasons; the grazer, not so much.

The Band Instructor - Erotic
Just a girl trying to win a spot in the high school band.

Beached - Non-Erotic
Despite her being 1400 times his size, his only thought was saving her baby.

Bermuda's Triangle - Erotic
A cruise provides the backdrop for teen antics.

Bring the Pain - Erotic
She might be a bitch, but, was that a bad thing?

Bring the Pleasure - Erotic
And just how many orgasms will she have?

Can't Buy Me Love - Erotic
A streetworker with an incredible work ethic, a goal, and a big suprise.

Chance of Rain? - Non-Erotic
Noah and his boys get a weather report.

Dates - Erotic
A busy guy making dates and more dates.

Dessert - Erotic
Wait. Is this a flashback in the mind of one of the most notorious criminals ever, or, coincidence?

A Different Kind of Rain - Non-Erotic
Can't say too much about this one for fear of giving it away.

Don't Judge - Erotic
A creepy judge gets judged by a non-judge. Judgment Day!

The Fall Into Darkness - Non-Erotic
A 57 word fall.

The Final Countdown - Erotic
It's a tribute to the wildly popular show Game of Thrones.

Go Fish! - Erotic
Bit of a humorous tribute story to three members of a website.

A Five Letter Word - Non-Erotic
Little bit of husband and wife fun.

Flash - Erotic
When your life flashes before your eyes but you only have 1,000 words.

The Gang of Seven - Non-Erotic
If you guess what this story is about before the end, I bow to you.

God - Non-Erotic
Interesting conversation one day with the almighty.

Have You Any Dreams You'd Like To Sell? - Erotic
Paying homage to two members of one of the greatest bands of the 70s-90s.

Have You Ever Seen The Rain? - Non-Erotic
She confronted him about cheating, she, a blind girl.

Helen - Erotic
Evil incarnate never truly dies.

His Favorite Day of the Year - Erotic
Sometimes it pays to take note of how things are going, otherwise, bad things happen.

Holy Moley - Non-Erotic
Did you ever wonder how the world of spies worked? Not so much James Bond, but, effective.

I Bargained with the Reaper - Non-Erotic
A man bargains with the Reaper and steals lines left and right.

Justice May Be Blind, Deaf Perhaps, But Definitely Dumb - Non-Erotic
It's life in the fast lane of justice in the not so distant future.

The Justification of a Jingoistically Juxtapositional Jurisprudence - Non-Erotic
Sometimes one man can, and does, make a difference.

Karma Really Is A Bitch - Erotic
If this doesn't convince you to not pull tricks on your partner, nothing will.

Like A Rolling Stone - Erotic
One woman's regrets on her fall from greatness.

The Little Drummer Boy - Non-Erotic
Is he just a little boy, playing his drum? Pa rum pum pum pum.

Love You to Death - Non-Erotic
If you are a fan of National Geographic, you'll figure this out before others.

Lucky Man - Erotic
Girlfriend provides a special aquatic memory.

{b}Make It Rain[/b] - Non-Erotic
Making it rain for one very special young lady.

Missing You - Non-Erotic
One man's torment over losing a good friend.

Ping Pong Balls - Non-Erotic
Short story based on an old, old joke.

Prayers Answered - Erotic
Silly, sexy, horror romp.

The Rain in Spain Stays Mainly in . . . Frastel! - Non-Erotic
Silly story of a classroom that erupts when a student goes off on a teacher.

Rainku - Non-Erotic
Yes, this is haiku. For you.

Rainout - Non-Erotic
Cubs baseball game, a rainout, but memorable.

Raindrops Keep Fallin' - Non-Erotic
Peter, Paul, Mary, and Burt!

The Red Dot of Death - Erotic
The one color dot you never wish to see.

The Red, White, and Blue Club - Erotic
Not quite All-American as the title suggests; slightly tricky.

Reign - Erotic
Scene from the tv series of the same name.

Resolution 2020: Lose My Virginity - Erotic
A girl decides she wants to lose her virginity, and her friend helps.

She's a Rainbow - Non-Erotic
Siblings are known for their rivalry; not this pair.

A Slaying Song Tonight - Erotic
I guarantee you that if all D&D was played like this, millions would start playing tomorrow!

Uncrated Love - Erotic
Widowed man finds excitement with a real doll.

Waiting - Non-Erotic
Might not mean as much to those who don't know these real life characters . . .

What's in a Name Anyways? - Non-Erotic
Po-tay-to or Po-tah-to? So the storywriter got the hero's name wrong. Does it matter?

White Wedding - Erotic
There's always one guy at the wedding who is going to score. You'd never suspect . . .

You Make Lovin' Fun - Non-Erotic
Somewhat unusual story to read without reading Embracing Autism Gleefully first, but you can try.

Best Ride Ever

The small carnival had been coming to town for as far back as most residents remembered, at least fifty years, with its small petting zoo, rides for kids and fun for adults like ring toss and the dunking booth.

Montezuma, Iowa was stereotypical small town America, population of just over 1,400 on a good day. The Diamond Lake campground was the main attraction, and Montezuma Manufacturing the largest employer at several hundred, building car parts and accessories. Quiet, peaceful, and a good place to live is how residents thought of it.

One resident, Joel McElspeth, lived in a nice house off of Barnes City Road and kept mostly to himself. When asked, he said he was retired military, living on a pension and investments. Joel, however, had a secret. Each week he'd go to the local Junior-Senior High School and watch both the JV and Varsity football games in the Fall. In the Winter, it was basketball, and then in the Spring he'd watch field hockey matches. Joel's obsession was teenage girls, cheerleaders or not. To his credit, he'd never fucked one, never touched one inappropriately, never exposed himself, zip zero nada.

Joel lived for the coming of the carnival. Each year he'd run one attraction, and it was one of the best-kept secrets for the past 30 years. It was called "Guess Your Weight" and carnival goers would step up to Joel, one at a time, pay the $1 fee, and he'd guess their weight. If he was within three pounds either way, they'd get their pick of a small candy bar as a consolation prize. If he was outside the range, they'd get to pick from among a variety of stuffed animals.

Periodically, though, a teenage girl would step up to Joel, and for the most part, they'd shyly mumble the letters "SOMF" to him. He'd nod, guess a weight that he knew was outside the range, and the girl would move off to collect her prize, but not before being passed a special coin-like token from him. After getting the prize, the girl knew to move into the shadows toward the back of the main tents, where an older woman would be sitting in a chair. She'd give the woman the token and do the one other thing that was required.

Jewel Weatherby was 16, and she was with her best friend, Sondra Wollen, who was also 16 but hadn't been to the carnival before. Jewel had an older sister who had told her how to get a special invite, so when both girls, one after the other, said "SOMF" and got tokens, they both approached the older lady together and presented their coins. The woman took them and then waited for the reveal. Jewel went first and after quickly looking around, lifted the front of her skirt to show the woman that she wasn't wearing panties, her bare pussy exposed. Sondra's face was already red, and as she quickly lifted and then dropped her skirt, the woman noted her brown bush. Jewel was to go into tent #2, and Sondra into tent #3.

"I can't believe we're doing this," said Sondra, scared and excited at the same time.

Jewel entered her tent and saw the low-slung chair, which had a fairly large opening in the middle of it. Remembering last year, Jewel quickly moved to the chair, made sure her skirt wasn't under her and sat.

It was less than ten seconds later when she felt the first lick, which caused a quick intake of breath on her part. Soon it was followed by another and then another, and then again and again, her heartbeat quickening as she thought about the college boy that she was told was beneath her, eating her pussy. It was so exciting for her!

Sondra took a bit of extra time before sitting down, a bundle of nerves and ready to burst. The tongue started slow, almost tentatively, then began to speed up, moving up one lip, just tapping at her clit, which caused her to jump slightly, then back down the other lip, not stopping until a quick lick was given to her rosebud, causing her to gasp. She'd masturbated, but this was a whole different level of pleasure and she felt herself getting wet quickly as the tongue now slipped inside her pussy.

Minutes later after their orgasms, the two girls had exited the tents through the back, each holding multiple ten-dollar bills.

"He didn't guess your weight either, huh?" said Jewel, smiling as she pocketed the money.

"No, he said 'one-hundred-twenty-five' and obviously I'm under a hundred, and--." She stopped talking see her friend barely containing laughter. "What?"

"Silly, they WANT you to have the money, they always guess wrong, because they want you to come back tomorrow night!" The two girls rushed off, each fifty dollars richer.

That evening, Joel sat with his retired buddies, drinking beer on his porch. The four of them recounted their evening, describing in detail the young pussy that they'd eaten, and raising multiple toasts to "Best Ride Ever" and "SOMF spells Sit On My Face!" It was their once-a-year visit to see Joel and enjoy the pleasures of youth. When they'd had their fill, each would retire to bed, and Joel would go to his bedroom. The "older woman", a local college student, had since removed all the stage make-up, grey wig, and had taken a hot bath, and was now laying naked on Joel's bed, waiting for what she knew would be excellent sex. She'd been recruited by the previous year's "older woman" and knew that she'd be rewarded with enough money during carnival week to pay for her books for the whole upcoming school year.

An hour or so later, a blowjob received, a second orgasm achieved inside the young woman, Joel lifted a beer with her: "Best Ride Ever!"

Control Magic

No one has the balls to approach her, I thought to myself. This wasn't Worlds or even Nationals, so you didn't have the best players here, but she sure stood out, at least in my mind. But an ice queen, to be sure. I certainly had no plans to make a fool of myself, no siree.

I breezed through the first round, matched up against a younger player, a guy a little too brash and way too aggressive, especially against my deck. His red and white creatures struck early, taking my life total perilously close to death, but I didn't panic, counting on my lifegain cards to appear, which they did in the nick of time. Frustration was etched across his face until he scooped his cards, ending the second game after having lost the first in the best-of-three match.

As I walked around to see how some friends were faring, I saw her again, matched up against one of the top players from our region. Standing across from her, behind him, I saw that she was playing blue/white, a control deck. Well, that makes sense, I almost said out loud, then checked myself. Studying her for a moment, I saw her eyes darting from her cards in hand to those on the battlefield, both hers and his. His creatures, numbering six, far outnumbered her two.

Wrath of God. The iconic Magic: The Gathering white removal spell. I saw it coming before she tapped the two white mana and two colorless mana. When in doubt, white wipes the field. Her eyes flickered up and caught mine. I smiled, well, maybe more of a smirk, and moved on.

Hours later, it was the final round before Top 8 and I was undefeated. I was shuffling my deck and down sat the ice queen. I noted that her breasts didn't bounce much at--STOP! Concentrate! I stuck my hand out over the table and at first she looked, then extended hers with a slight smile and shook mine. Decent grip for a girl, I thought.

She crushed me the first game, managing to get Lorthos out and tap down my side with ease. I admit I was foolishly spending far too much time stealing glances at her chest and wondering if that was just her bra or if her nipples were jutting out a tiny bit.

She won the second game too because I got mana screwed, no lands for seven straight draws so I had no way to get my side developed. She almost looked sympathetic to my plight but I figured that was simply me projecting. Ice queens are not sympathetic. She did make a note on a small piece of paper.

As I gathered my cards I saw that she had extended her hand across the table. Rarely was this done because no one was happy being the loser of a match, but I wasn't going to let my bruised pride rule. I shook her hand and then realized that she had passed me a note as I watched her get up and go to the Judge's station to drop off the scoresheet.

Meet me outside the women's bathroom. 10 minutes. I re-read it three times, you know, because it was complex and I wanted to be sure I understood completely. When my friends came by to see how I did I quickly crumpled up the paper and shoved it into my front pocket. I got the typical "You got beat by a girl, hahahahaha" stuff, which I shrugged off. They soon left to find other friends and torment them as only good friends can do.

---

"Hey." I turned, a bit startled at her voice. It was very, well, girly. "Can I see your deck?"

I blinked, for a moment I thought she had asked, then I blushed and saw a real smile as I fumbled to get my deck out of the protective box, handing the cards to her.

She shuffled through them quickly, looking up to me, and then back to the cards. I pegged her at about six inches shorter than my six feet. She reached for and took my box, pulling out my sideboard and looking through it.

She held up Blightsteel Colossus. "Mainboard, not sideboard. Too good a card." She handed me the box and my cards and started to walk away. "Will you eat dinner with me tonight? Loser pays?" Then she smiled again and walked away. I dropped a few cards but I don't think she saw me do that.

---

The final match. We once again shook hands, but there was no smile this time. She was all business, ice queen mask in place. Fine. I had plans to whoop her ass this time.

Funny how life turns out. The first game I got her into a Mindslaver-Academy Ruins lockdown, and I was up 1-0. Second game her creatures flew over my defenses. 1-1. Last game coming up. I saw her looking at my deck box. Sure, I thought, I'll bring him in.

I was again in deep trouble, but dropped All is Dust, which removed all of her creatures and other permanents with color; she didn't have a counterspell left to stop me. Next, I cheaty-faced in Blightsteel, and the crowd collectively cheered as I would win next turn without a saving response from her.

Control Magic. Enchant target creature. Moans of despair filled the room. She'd stolen my creature and would swing and win with it this turn.

I extended my hand and she readily took it and we shook. She whispered, "You owe me."

Dinner was nice. She was a junior, like me, in a neighboring school district. Kissing was better. We took a walk and kissed and kissed. It was . . . magical.

Ten years later, with two kids and a dog, it's still magical. I carry Control Magic around in my wallet. Best. Card. Ever.

Friends With Benefits

The dark van creeped slowly down the lane, dirt caked on it from years of neglect. The driver was cloaked by windows tinted darker than should have been allowed. It was Halloween night. It was his night.

The school girls skipped in unison down the lane, playing follow the leader. Three brunettes, and finally, her, the blonde. Normally the lane was brightly lit, if not by street lamps, by the scattered houses. This year, it seemed, a few of the street lamps had burned out. The girls skipped onward, unaware of trouble ahead.

The van had been parked for a couple of minutes now, the driver patiently awaiting his prey, the pellet gun resting comfortably on the passenger seat, its task complete.

He knew his target. He'd watched her walking through the halls, oblivious to his existence, oblivious to his value. He'd watched her from the broom closet, conveniently located across from her locker. He had no kids of his own, but he attended many school events and rallies, at least the ones that she participated in. When asked about his attendance, his reply was always the same: “School spirit,” he said, enthusiasm thick in his voice.

She'd slept over friend's houses seven times in the past twelve months, the last being Molly's three weeks ago. She'd started her monthly cycle six months and seventeen days ago, according to the entry in his very well-documented journal. He knew this because he knew she kept a small stash of pads well-hidden in her school locker. He'd also watched her buy her first box with her Mom at the pharmacy. She was halfway to becoming a woman, he thought, and his intent was to fulfill the other half of that feminine achievement.

His heartbeat quickened as he saw them approaching. Bait had been extended, a trap waiting to spring. Irresistible to a school girl, of that he was confident.

The skipping was now out of sync, but the girls didn't care. They were dressed as zombies, heading towards Heather's party. That all of them wouldn't make it there on-time was simply fate.

To his horror, the girls started crossing the street, avoiding the van, avoiding his bait. All but the blonde, all but the one wanting to be different, to be unique.

She saw the money. Shooting fish in a barrel, he grinned and thought to himself. As she picked up the bank-fresh pack of twenty dollar bills, fifty-thousand volts passed through the thin wire connected from the van to the bait, wrapped in thin, conductive wire. Not nearly enough to kill, but plenty to knock silly a school girl.

He swiftly opened the back door, grabbed the near unconscious girl, stepped back into the van and quickly shut the door, noticing the panicked look on the other three, watching helplessly from across the street.

He sped off, his license plate one that was lifted from an abandoned car years ago. His spot was just three minutes away, not much more than a dirt path off the lane.

Parking the van, he quickly moved into the back, the school girl assessing her situation and closing her legs tightly. She knew what boys wanted. Then she looked at his face and saw he was wearing a mask so she couldn't identify him. She noticed his shirt and the embroidered stitching of the name: J. O'Reilly. And the scuffed boots. And the work pants with the thin stripe of dark green running down the side.

“This will go a lot easier for you if you don't fight back, little girl,” he said,

his voice braided with menace as he crouched toward her.

She recognized the voice.

“Mister … Mister O'Reilly?”

John O'Reilly stopped advancing and sucked all the oxygen out of the van with his surprised intake.

“Mr. O'Reilly, why are you doing this? Don't you like me?” There was a chord of concern in her trembling voice.

“I … I just … I do like you. Lots.”

“Then please, can we talk? Can we be … friends? My name is Julia, but you can call me Jewels, ok?” The small girl's eyes darted around a bit until she found it.

“Okay Jules. Friends?”

“Yes, Mr. O'Reilly, friends. And friends give other friends benefits. Would you like a benefit, Mr. O'Reilly?”

She saw him simply blink and stare. She knew this next part was the calculated risk on her part.

Jewels reached down and took hold of her zombie shirt and pulled it up over her head, exposing her bra to his inquisitive eyes.

She heard what sounded like a groan come from him. He started moving forward a bit. Alarm bells went off for her.

“Wait, Mr. O'Reilly,” and the use of his name halted his roll. “Let me take the rest off. But please, turn around, ok? I'm shy.”

O'Reilly looked her up and down, licked his lips, nodded, and turned around.

The thing he saw next was the inside of the ambulance, as he was being carted off to the hospital in cuffs, bandages wrapped around his head.

Jewels had grabbed the tire iron she saw and wailed on him, multiple times, as she was taught by her dad, until he was totally out and she saw plenty of blood. She then called 9-1-1 on her cell phone.

Justice was swift. John O'Reilly was sentenced to 15 years in a maximum security lock-up.

Prisoners have their own sense of humor, and justice. The following All Hallow's Eve, several of the inmates dressed up as zombies and cornered him in the prison laundry.

“Wanna' be friends, O'Reilly?” said the largest of the three.

“Friends?”

“Yeah,” continued the big guy, as he started greasing up one of his arms, “and here come your benefits,” as he pointed to the word “benefits” tattooed on his, and each of his gang's, massive forearms, as they quickly advanced on him.

The Fourth of the Ninth

The icy cold wind was relentless, the continuous blustery current of air across the frozen lake a constant reminder of their plight.

The older man was mostly motionless, his eyes closed, his mind deep in thought. A second old man watched him, blessed with the patience of Job.

"Rook to Knight Seven." The old man had opened his eyes, ice particles having formed again in his eyebrows and his beard.

A crunching sound was heard once again, along with a muffled scream,.

"Seem colder to you today?" It was the patient one.

"No. Not really."

A few minutes later it was the patient one who drew first blood.

"Queen's bishop takes pawn."

After making his move, he looked around the lake. Nothing had changed. There were perhaps a thousand souls that he could see, but he suspected that there were plenty more out of his sight. He heard one of the closer ones musing on the Rite of Spring, the ballet by Igor Stravinsky. He knew, just knew, that the mention of Spring would set the other old woman on her discourse of Spring in Germania when she was a young girl.

"You could feel the warmth of the sun, and the birds, oh my, the birds would chirp and tweet so you'd start to think that they were talking with each other."

He smiled at her reverie. He'd heard it countless times before.

"Knight takes bishop." There was a pause. Say it, he thought. Check. Just say it.

"Check."

They both chuckled quietly, humor being one of the most precious of possessions at this stage of their existence.

"Seen anyone new?" He asked his friend this every day, and the answer was almost always the same.

"Not today. Not since him," indicating the direction with a nod of his head. "He doesn't say much."

That comment produced a full guffaw from both of them, looking over and seeing the newcomer's eyes narrowing with anger, his mouth buried beneath the ice.

The old woman now going on about the picnic.

In unison, they mimicked her, quietly though so as not to alert her to their form of teasing.

"And vee'd take the jam un spread it across thee bread."

Still smiling, they both then closed their eyes, scrunching hard, trying to melt some of the frozen icy particles that accumulated on their eyeballs, hoping to turn it into some lubricating wetness.

It worked. It mostly always worked.

"Oh, I almost forgot." It was the patient one. "I heard a new one, earlier, while you were sleeping."

"Where did it come from?"

"It was from someone afar. It passed through nine of us. It's long." He saw the disappointment.

"Don't worry, we took it slow. We got it right. Trust me."

"I trust you my friend. It's just, well, you know, it's the holy of holies. When we talk 'Spring'," at this word, both men bowed their heads, then raised them, "we must always, always be precise."

"True. Tell me. I am ready."

The patient one closed his eyes, his brow a bit furrowed, searching his memory. He then opened them, and looked directly at his friend of perhaps two thousand years.

"The only thing that could spoil a day was people. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as Spring itself."

The extreme cold discouraged tears. The fews times that they'd been shed, they froze the eyes shut and it took a monumental effort to melt the ice.

"Don't cry," said the patient one, and he could see the effort it took his friend not to do so.

A moment later, the older man sighed, got a hold of himself, figuratively, and asked the next question.

"Who?"

"It was a man named Hemingway," said the patient one. "That's all I know. We can practice it when you are ready."

The older man nodded slightly. "It is nice, but, not as good as, well, you know."

"Yes. The Shelley." Both men bowed their heads once again, and this time kept them bowed for a count of ten.

They once again felt the strong breeze blow, kicking up excess snow from the frozen lake bed, making it difficult to see. Like clockwork the wings flapped, causing the wind. Like clockwork, the crunching sounds ended with intermittent screams.

Their new neighbor to the left cringed and cried. Then two men tried to calm her, but she was mostly hysterical. They couldn't remember being hysterical. It was too far in the past. They learned that she'd had a job and that she'd betrayed her boss, costing him his life.

During a few moments of lucidity and without the hysteria, they explained in simple terms their plight.

"You are on the ninth circle of Hell, in the fourth ring. It is known as Judecca, named for its most famous resident, Judas Iscariot. You can see him, or, at least part of him. Look upwards, to Satan's center head and mouth. See the legs? His body is inside, and is chewed upon by Satan. That's why his screams are somewhat muffled."

The horror upon her face was extraordinary.

The older man continued, "Now look to the left and the right heads and mouths of Satan. There you will find Brutus and Cassius. You can see their heads and upper bodies but not their torsos and legs, which are inside the mouths. When he chews them you can hear their screams quite clearly."

All three were buried up to their necks in the cold ice of Cocytus, and thought about how fortunate they were not to be buried like some, with just eyes showing, or buried completely, their sins so much greater.

Hours, days or perhaps years later, as time had no meaning here, they explained their religion to her, their holy of holies, Spring, and the saying by which they held hope, from Percy Bysshe Shelley, "O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind?"

The Fourth of May

The tubes and wires were all connected to machines and pouches in some sad, heroic attempt to prolong my life. With this pandemic, staffing was short at the Veteran's hospital, and in the death wing, as it was referred to, no one cared when visitors came or went. The woman who sat with me, Chrissie, had a forlorn look about her but was resigned to her task. As I lay in bed, and as it passed midnight, I once again reflected back fifty-two years to the day and relayed the events to her.

---

"What do you thinks gonna happen, Jimmy?" I was nervous, we all were, and Jimmy had been my best friend forever.

"I don't know," said Jimmy, looking around as we walked, "but I ascared."

"Me too, pal." And I was. We continued trudging up the hill, past Taylor Hall, built only two years earlier. I wanted to go there to study journalism, but, my parents couldn't afford to send me, so I joined the Guard.

Jimmy had been hit with a rock and it'd cut him on his face, near his chin. I heard one of the fellas had been hit with a bottle, but I wasn't sure. Back down on the practice field, there must have been twenty or thirty of them, throwing rocks and other things at us. Were they fools? I saw one almost hit the old man. He was pissed! Idiots, didn't they realize that we have the power?

There was some commotion behind us, and while we kept moving forward, almost at the top of the hill, Jimmy and I looked around and saw a large crowd of protesters following us, getting closer. I heard a couple of yells, and I think some of us were once again getting pelted by rocks. You'd think the tear gas would have taught them a lesson. For students, they sure seemed dumb.

I'd heard the noon bell ring about twenty minutes ago, and it was loud, but it was nothing compared to the report of Sergeant Pryor's .45 as he started firing. A group of us guardsmen turned and fired too, into the crowd. If Sergeant was firing, then the order must have been given.

We didn't have blanks, why would we? My mind was stripped of all thought but the Sergeant's mantra that he'd beaten into our heads each day of training: kill or be killed.

It didn't last long, maybe fifteen or twenty seconds. Now I was a good shot. On my granddaddy's farm, I'd spent many a weekend shooting his .22 at tin cans and some bottles. Thing is, tin cans don't bleed.

I only shot once myself. Just like they taught us, preparing us to go to 'Nam, "Don't think, just aim and fire." That's what I did. I wasn't trying to hit the guy, but as I shot to his left, just wanting to scare him, he moved, right into the path of my bullet. Caught him square in the face.

I saw him drop.

I lowered my rifle.

It was chaos. Protesters were running, some were just dropping to the ground. I didn't know if they were shot too or just hitting the deck. A cease-fire order was given and a few seconds later I heard someone yell "they fucking killed somebody." Beyond that, it got eerily quiet real quick like.

I broke away from my unit and moved toward the boy on the ground, stopping when I was about thirty or so feet away. There was no doubt, I'd killed him instantly. A girl knelt next to him, looking at his dead body, then looking up and seeing me. She put her arms out, and screamed "Oh God! Why?" I didn't answer. I didn't have an answer. Somehow, because someone else fired, didn't seem to be an answer. It seemed more like an excuse.

Someone took a picture of her with him. He was standing just a few feet from me. Then he turned to take my picture, but, apparently, he ran out of film. I guess that was good for me, so I went back to my unit. We were ordered to leave the area. I saw other bodies. Later that day I learned that our National Guard unit had shot 13 at Kent State University. Nine were wounded. Four dead in Ohio.

When my enlistment was up, I left the Guard, left Ohio, and moved to Montana. I never married, mostly stayed to myself, and drank a lot. Worked in mining. Had a massive heart attack six weeks ago, then diagnosed with cancer; seemed fitting. I read about some of the people who were there during the shooting. One stood out. She became a musician and lead vocalist for the Pretenders. That was me, a pretender, like, I never told anyone about what I did, like, it never happened. I wrote to her, figured nothing would come of it, but one day she showed up at the hospital, and, well, here we are.

---

We didn't talk much. When I finished, she got up slowly out of her chair, came over to me, and asked me if there was anything else. She read in my letter that I'd been sending money every month to the victim's family, as much as I could. I looked up at her, tears now filling my eyes, and said, my voice raspy with the ravages of cancer, "Please. Ask them to forgive me."

A single tear traced its way down a thin groove in her still pretty face. She nodded and then leaned in to kiss my forehead. I wept as she stepped back, pressed the red switch to off, denying me the life-sustaining power, and walked out as my vision went to gray, and then black.

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