When Tom wanted to go shopping, he went shopping. When Tom wanted to sleep, he slept. And when Tom wanted to eat, he ate. But, Tom could never dream.
A day dream here and there, sure, no problem - if he saw a sporty car whiz by as he walked to work he was able to imagine himself behind the wheel, zipping through the side streets of an Italian village with a silk scarf snapping behind him. Yet, every morning Tom awoke with a lament that no cold shower could rinse away. He wished for dreams, but to no avail. He prayed for dreams but received no answer.
His mother used to dream. She would steal into his room in the middle of the night and wake him to share her dreams of floating mountains and birds that ate lollipops and caves of fire. Those were his dreams: waking dreams of a mother's fantasies.
Now, he lies awake in the middle of the night and imagines dreams his mother may have had. Or, he imagines the fantasy she now lives in a world of floating mountains and birds eating lollipops. That is Tom’s dream.
Written: July 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
She by Christopher M. Bohan
She by Christopher M. Bohan
She ripped through the sky clawing at Mother Nature with the ferociousness of a tiger and the gentleness of a cashmere sweater. Behind her she dragged a consortium of stars and galaxies no longer undiscovered and set them at her feet with a 'humph' and a primal, silent scream that revealed a throat filled with wonder and love.
She stretched her consciousness and shielded her bust from the chill of the atmosphere. Gracefully, she unzipped her will and stepped out into her recently unknown world, punched delirium in the face and settled into an inquisitive state.
The fight was not over. Once she regained, or originated rather, her sense of self she began her horizontal ascent towards the treasure she sought slowed only by the stars and galaxies still attached to her heel. She set them free without regret as she latched onto life with a clenched fist, a wonder of beauty and the pleasure of a smile.
Written: July 29, 2010
She ripped through the sky clawing at Mother Nature with the ferociousness of a tiger and the gentleness of a cashmere sweater. Behind her she dragged a consortium of stars and galaxies no longer undiscovered and set them at her feet with a 'humph' and a primal, silent scream that revealed a throat filled with wonder and love.
She stretched her consciousness and shielded her bust from the chill of the atmosphere. Gracefully, she unzipped her will and stepped out into her recently unknown world, punched delirium in the face and settled into an inquisitive state.
The fight was not over. Once she regained, or originated rather, her sense of self she began her horizontal ascent towards the treasure she sought slowed only by the stars and galaxies still attached to her heel. She set them free without regret as she latched onto life with a clenched fist, a wonder of beauty and the pleasure of a smile.
Written: July 29, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
Fancy Feast Freak Out by Christopher M. Bohan
Fancy Feast Freak Out by Christopher M. Bohan
He pushed the shopping cart down the aisle with regret and a deep sense that he had never been there before. He gingerly snatched a can of Fancy Feast from the shelf, sniffed it, smelled nothing then turned and whipped the can down the aisle where it passed over the Old Bay display and then lodged itself into a rump roast that lay peacefully in the subliminally violent red meat case.
In a fit of rage he had never felt before he began hurling tins of cat food in every direction. At 3am on a Tuesday the 24-hour Grocery Bag became a war zone, of sorts. A lady shopping in frozen foods took one to the cheek, fell to the ground and was aided by a stock boy who pressed a bag of frozen cauliflower to her swollen, bleeding face.
He was picking up a can of dog food just as the Taser stung him in the back. The current caused his hand to clench and the dog food can burst open sending Alpo all over the display for flea collars as a plea gasped from his mouth, "I don't know. I don't know. Do you hear Mozart?"
Written: July 28, 2010
He pushed the shopping cart down the aisle with regret and a deep sense that he had never been there before. He gingerly snatched a can of Fancy Feast from the shelf, sniffed it, smelled nothing then turned and whipped the can down the aisle where it passed over the Old Bay display and then lodged itself into a rump roast that lay peacefully in the subliminally violent red meat case.
In a fit of rage he had never felt before he began hurling tins of cat food in every direction. At 3am on a Tuesday the 24-hour Grocery Bag became a war zone, of sorts. A lady shopping in frozen foods took one to the cheek, fell to the ground and was aided by a stock boy who pressed a bag of frozen cauliflower to her swollen, bleeding face.
He was picking up a can of dog food just as the Taser stung him in the back. The current caused his hand to clench and the dog food can burst open sending Alpo all over the display for flea collars as a plea gasped from his mouth, "I don't know. I don't know. Do you hear Mozart?"
Written: July 28, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Money Fan by Christopher M. Bohan
Money Fan by Christopher M. Bohan
Turk turned the fan on high and the money flew everywhere. Hundreds stuck to the screen door like a swarm of insects looking for a way out. A twenty sliced Kurt across the cheek and gave him a paper cut right above his tattoo of the backside of a penny and right below his tattoo of a teardrop. Two hundred thousand scattered across the Midway Inn second floor executive suite complete with Jacuzzi tub and free HBO and ESPN in a matter of seconds. The complimentary ice bucket held about seven hundred dollars in refugee bills.
Turk attempted to shut off the fan, but succeeded only in setting the fan speed higher and another layer of bills was swept into the oscillating breeze. And, just as a bill was to settle the fan would pan back and set it adrift, aloft, toward the island, or counter rather, that held free soaps, a very small coffee maker and an ever-richening ice bucket.
Kurt really had wanted to jump on he bed and frolic in the money, but now, thanks to Turk, the moment was gone. Kurt sat staring at the nomadic money and said, "Thanks, Turk. Thanks, you idiot!"
Written: July 27, 2010
Turk turned the fan on high and the money flew everywhere. Hundreds stuck to the screen door like a swarm of insects looking for a way out. A twenty sliced Kurt across the cheek and gave him a paper cut right above his tattoo of the backside of a penny and right below his tattoo of a teardrop. Two hundred thousand scattered across the Midway Inn second floor executive suite complete with Jacuzzi tub and free HBO and ESPN in a matter of seconds. The complimentary ice bucket held about seven hundred dollars in refugee bills.
Turk attempted to shut off the fan, but succeeded only in setting the fan speed higher and another layer of bills was swept into the oscillating breeze. And, just as a bill was to settle the fan would pan back and set it adrift, aloft, toward the island, or counter rather, that held free soaps, a very small coffee maker and an ever-richening ice bucket.
Kurt really had wanted to jump on he bed and frolic in the money, but now, thanks to Turk, the moment was gone. Kurt sat staring at the nomadic money and said, "Thanks, Turk. Thanks, you idiot!"
Written: July 27, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
One Size Fits All by Christopher M. Bohan
Striped shirts and briefcases. Titanium pencils and pens and lunches on terraces with non-native trees and cloth napkins. Silver watch bands, platinum wedding bands and sterling silver belt loops. Crushed ice bathed in imported spring water and priceless menus. BMWs and Porshes blanket the blacktop. Leather shoes kiss the carpet and linen sport coats pet the seatbacks. Holidays in remote locations reserved for the elite and proper. Obscure yachting magazines which detail, in detail, the meaning of the obscurity of the spelling of the word yacht. Homes with three kitchens and a television monitor showing the location of all the other televisions in the home. Bank accounts in secret locations and tax shelters the size of Jupiter.
Or…
Skinny jeans, mustaches, hip bikes with trendy messenger shoulder bags, flannel shirts and railing against ‘the man’.
Pretention: one size fits all.
Written: July 25, 2010
Or…
Skinny jeans, mustaches, hip bikes with trendy messenger shoulder bags, flannel shirts and railing against ‘the man’.
Pretention: one size fits all.
Written: July 25, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
My apologies for the hiatus
Dear all,
This actually is me and not a work a fiction.
Thanks for reading my short stories. Sorry for the hiatus. There are no good excuses so I will just say that my dog ate my computer. I don't have a dog, but it is a better excuse than anything else. The truth is that I was rehearsing and acting in a show and preparing for our new baby - due to arrive sometime in December of 2010.
But, I was writing the whole time I was away and will begin posting again. I did miss a few days and have been trying to catch up by writing two a day.
Hope you enjoy the new posts and please feel free to share with friends and invite them to read my little ramblings.
Cheers,
Chris Bohan
This actually is me and not a work a fiction.
Thanks for reading my short stories. Sorry for the hiatus. There are no good excuses so I will just say that my dog ate my computer. I don't have a dog, but it is a better excuse than anything else. The truth is that I was rehearsing and acting in a show and preparing for our new baby - due to arrive sometime in December of 2010.
But, I was writing the whole time I was away and will begin posting again. I did miss a few days and have been trying to catch up by writing two a day.
Hope you enjoy the new posts and please feel free to share with friends and invite them to read my little ramblings.
Cheers,
Chris Bohan
Autumnal Transition by Christopher M. Bohan
Bells rang out, pealing with happiness and joy. Autumn had come and harvest festivals were preparing to bring deliciousness and smiles to the faces of all the weary summer travelers.
But this year, it was decided that apple cider would be served chilled and pumpkins would remain unlit. Instead, pumpkins would be set out during the day and filled with ice cubes to be used in the apple cider. It was not that the autumn was to be abnormally warm, it was just that the summer had been so abominably hot that everyone needed a lengthier transition – or make that a more abrupt transition – into winter. After weeks and weeks of heat waves no one was interested in HOT apple cider or warm pumpkin pie. The enormous summer heat waves had an undertow that kept pulling you back into its relentlessness.
So, this year, autumn will forgo being a transitional season and will instead serve as a direct conduit to winter and all the coolness it brings.
Written: July 23, 2010
But this year, it was decided that apple cider would be served chilled and pumpkins would remain unlit. Instead, pumpkins would be set out during the day and filled with ice cubes to be used in the apple cider. It was not that the autumn was to be abnormally warm, it was just that the summer had been so abominably hot that everyone needed a lengthier transition – or make that a more abrupt transition – into winter. After weeks and weeks of heat waves no one was interested in HOT apple cider or warm pumpkin pie. The enormous summer heat waves had an undertow that kept pulling you back into its relentlessness.
So, this year, autumn will forgo being a transitional season and will instead serve as a direct conduit to winter and all the coolness it brings.
Written: July 23, 2010
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