A short story about insomnia by David Tombale: Demons

Demons

There are those rare moments at night, when you lie awake and somehow your whole life unfolds in front of you and there’s simply nowhere to hide. Scott had turned over on his side, then on his back until he realized that there’d be no sleep for him. It wasn’t the rain slapping against the windows or the cool air that blew in through an open shutter, it turned out to be the demons that had been plaguing him for a little over a month.

He rolled out of bed and using the flashlight on his phone he found the album he’d hidden among the books on his shelf. It was small and had a red cover and when he pulled it open a photo immediately fell to the floor. He got to his knees and picked it up and wasn’t surprised to find that it was a picture of the two of them on that same bed. In it he was bent over and wearing an old Metallica shirt and she had her arms around his neck with her auburn hair falling over his shoulder.

Scott sat at his desk and smiled down at the picture. He put it beside the album as he opened it in front of him. He flipped through the pages not really focusing on any of them but just scanning through the memories they’d made. In almost every picture he’d find her smiling back at him, usually in a pair of jeans that showed off her athletic body. There she was in a baseball cap, with long hair, with short hair, at the beach wearing a long skirt and kicking sand at the lens, or leaning back against a wooden horse on a carousel.

Scott put down the album and stared out the window at the sun shyly peeking over the horizon. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting there, but the aches in his body hinted that it had been far longer than he would have liked to admit. The covers moved and a head poked out from under them. Her black hair was frizzy and looked like static had got to it and she quickly noticed him at his table. She met his eyes blearily, confusion all over her face.

‘Scott? How long have you been up?’ she asked.

‘Not long,’ he replied closing the album and placing his French Dictionary on top of it. He got up and eased into bed beside her.

She put her arm over him and smiled. ‘Good morning.’

‘Morning,’ he smiled back at her.

She moved closer and laid her head on his lap. Scott glanced down at the top of her head then up at the ceiling and hated himself for the pain he must be causing her. He hated that another woman still owned his heart and if she asked he’d have to tell her that April was all he could think about.

A short story about a long distance relationship by David Tombale: The distance between

The distance between

Jerome had grown to love watching the sun come over the Boston skyline. Its mix of yellows and reds reminded him of autumn, and made him grateful for the view. His office was on the eight floor of their Boston branch and was suitably large, almost large enough to have space for his ego as Laura would say.

He hadn’t seen her in a while, almost a full month if he remembered right. The distance had been hard on her, hell it had been hard on him and he wondered how she filled the hours in-between. He could imagine, and the writhing images of her tangled in their bed sheets with another man had been enough to cause a cold sweat to break out all over his body.

He was thinking of calling her but it was around six and she’d probably still be at the hospital. He’d been so proud of her when she finally finished her residency and became Dr. Laura Roberts; he could picture her smiling in her white doctor’s coat causing the male patients’ heartbeats to spiral into insanity. She had that effect on the male gender and he was living proof of it.

Jerome loosened his tie and pulled off his blazer placing it on the shoulders of his chair. He couldn’t wait for the trial to end so that he could go back to his Laura, if she was still waiting. The trek back and forth between Boston and Chicago had only shown them how much they’d come to rely on each other, how a separation could wreak havoc on even the best relationships. Maybe he should call; she could be in the apartment right now wearing his Lakers’ jersey and nothing else desperate for the sound of his voice.

What would he do if he did and some other guy answered? Would it be over? Would that be how she told him that she’d grown too tired of missing him? That their busy schedules were no excuse for leaving her in the dark silence of an apartment they’d rented together. It was silly but he’d hoped Big Humphrey, the large brown furred teddy bear he’d bought her on Valentines’ might have helped ease the ache but teddy bear arms could never replace the warmth of real ones.

So maybe it was over or damn it should he call? He kept glancing down at the dark blue telephone on his desk agonizing over it. He needed to hear her voice but he’d probably end up sounding lonely over the phone. He couldn’t afford that. He sighed and looked back out the window as the sun slowly died and darkness began to rise like a wave over the city. Ring, ring, ring. The phone was vibrating and he reached out his hand and answered it.

‘Hello,’ he said softly.

‘Hey G,’ Laura said huskily, ‘are you busy?’

A short story about love and regret by David Tombale: Among the dust

Among the dust

The smell of dust sat around the apartment, filling the little gaps between the furniture and the floors, the picture frames and the vase where a bunch of dead roses sat. Patrick looked around the room and could only see her ghost putting up their olive green curtains or humming a little song to herself while she chopped onions by their kitchen counter.

He was lying on the floor trying to find the strength to get up but without her there seemed no point. In one hand he held a sneaker of hers he’d found at the back of their closet. It still smelled like her. Her letters were arrayed around him a little like a chalk outline around a body. She’d written such beautiful letters; not like other people did, professing love and regurgitating clichés, no she knew how to tell a story, how to capture your imagination with her passion.

Patrick only wished he’d shared her gift, maybe then he might have been able to write what was in his heart. Something like how her kiss had been the one thing he went to sleep dreaming about and was the first thing he wanted to wake up to. God how she’d laughed and fought him off complaining about his morning breath. They’d wrestle playfully until he pinned her down and kissed her all over her face lastly capturing her lips with his. She’d always lean in pressing her body against his and he’d want her all over again.

Somewhere down the hall he could hear the phone ringing. Patrick reluctantly lifted his arm and looked at his watch. It was a quarter to two, twenty minutes until the wedding. Somebody started pounding on the door and he could hear voices shouting his name but all he wanted to do was lie there with the dust. Maybe they’d find his body years from now, with the decayed remains of her letters and the rags of his black suit covering his bones.

He heard the door open and the click of heels on the wooden floors. Someone stopped by his side and sat down. When he looked up he could only see her white dress before she tore her veil from her head. She lay by his side and met his eyes. She still looked exactly the same as she had on the day he left. The same long black hair and the same intelligent blue eyes that he’d loved so much. She laid her hand on Patrick’s cheek and cried.

“Why didn’t you come?” she asked him.

“Why didn’t you wait?” he whispered.

“I did. I waited three long years for you to come back to me,” she said.

“I know. I’m sorry. It took me a long time to figure out what I wanted,” Patrick said.

“And have you? Do you know what you want now?” she asked.

He moved closer to her until their foreheads met. “I want world peace, an end to starvation, the Cubs to win the World Series and that you never marry anyone but me.”

She smiled through her tears. “Is that all? So are you proposing?”

Patrick kissed her tasting her tears on her lips and felt his heart swell in his chest. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Rebecca Cousins will you marry me?”

“Hmmm,” she seemed to think about it, “maybe,” she said, kissing him once, twice then grabbing him like she’d never let go and kissing him with all the strength she had.

A short story about love and future space travel David Tombale: To the moon

To the moon

The sun was just coming over the horizon when Alice reached for Tyson’s hand. He gave her fingers a little squeeze. He imagined for a second that he could feel the shift as the train connected to the stellar bridge.

That was impossible of course; these trains were designed so well that the transfer was often seamless.  It was one of the few pleasures this trip would offer him. Alice nervously ran a hand through her fiery auburn hair as she tried to be brave for the both of them.

“It’s okay you know,” Tyson said.

“Nothing about this is okay,” she shot back.

Tyson couldn’t help smiling at how concerned his woman was about him. It meant even more to him that she let him see it.

The other passengers snuck glances in their direction, amazed at the sight of a tall tattooed tough guy sitting across from such a petite woman. He couldn’t blame them, with his Mohawk and the large spider tattoo on his neck he looked exactly like the gangster he was. Despite the censure in their eyes the only person who mattered was staring at him sadly, a universe’s worth of love in her beautiful blue eyes.

“This train will be coming into the station in exactly 15 minutes,” a female voice announced over the speakers.

“That was fast,” Tyson joked.

“How can you be so calm about this?” Alice asked him.

Tyson tried to reach out his hands but the chain securing his handcuffs to the table stopped him short. Alice stood up in her seat so that she could close the space between them. Tyson caressed her face with the back of his fingers and smiled when she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“I’m calm because I have you with me,” he told her.

There was a slight shudder as the high speed train slowed down then came to a complete stop.

“We have now arrived at the Lunar Settlement. Passengers may begin disembarking. Thank you,” the voice over the speakers informed them.

“That’s our cue,” Tyson said.

Alice reached into her jacket and pulled out a titanium chip. She ducked under the table and inserted it in a lock at Tyson’s feet. There was a soft click and when the small light on the side of the lock turned green the chain fell from the handcuffs.

Alice stood up and reached for one of Tyson’s arms. She gently pulled him forward as he hobbled weighed down by the other set of cuffs around his ankles.

“Do you think they’ll make me wait before they execute me,” Tyson asked with a smile in his voice.

“No,” Marshall Alice Locke said, the first of many tears beginning to fall, “no I’m sure they’ll do it right away.”

She could see the Lunar State Prison officers waiting on the platform in their purple uniforms. She tried to draw strength from Tyson’s peaceful aura but all she could feel was panic and an overwhelming fear that was squeezing at her heart.