Category: Short Stories

Short stories written by Alex P. Grover.

Mavis

Mavis

Jean had just taken a bite of eggs when she saw the old woman outside the cottage window, flanked by mist. The cottage resided just above the sea on a cliff, rolled over with a light blanket of moisture. The waters below gently whined and splashed below, disguising the sounds of the old woman's footfalls.

Eyes squinted, the old woman cupped her fingers and waved in gentle oscillations. Keep Reading

Paper Giving

Paper Giving

"New York Quickread, get a New York Quickread!"

Sandra stood at the mouth of the subway station, handing out papers to folks coming up from below. Cars and buses honked along Broadway, giving melody to the drudging, ever-spinning turnstile gears. Keep Reading

Kiffs

Kiffs

Nightmares of white mountains—

Charles waited outside the apartment, rubbing his hands, blowing into the fold. It was night, and it was supposed to be cold. But the ends of his fingers were numb, and his eyes teared in the raw blasts of the wind tunnels. He didn't remember it being this cold, but things had changed. Keep Reading

Grandpa Buzby

Grandpa Buzby

He was an older man with wrinkled skin, thin-rimmed glasses, and a short-brimmed hat and peacoat, explaining to the receptionist that he had to get inside.

"I have such fond memories of this place," the old man said. "I used to work here—" Keep Reading

Alley Cats

Alley Cats

Tracy heard cats mewling out her apartment window. The radiator was broken, so Tracy had bundled under a thick comforter to keep from freezing at 1AM, when the cold stung strongest. Wrapped to the neck in the blanket, Tracy squirmed to get back in the right position. Going to work was no longer an early-morning commitment. Tracy had unwittingly made sure of that.

She heard the mewling again. It sounded like one cat at first, but then Tracy clearly heard a few tiny meows. A mother and her litter, Tracy imagined. When Tracy thought about being in the cold, and how warm it was inside, the blanket felt much, much heavier. Keep Reading

Digestion: a Fable

Digestion: a Fable

There were ways to compete against the other carniflora for the hairy, moist morsels of the jungle. Sickly scents that proved fruit was nearby. Drowning rivals of sunlight. Sending vines to strangle acidic gullets, keeping four-legs from falling in.

Though there were better ways. Keep Reading

The Misser

The Misser

Chad sat at the bench in the 72nd Street station with a box he'd gotten delivered to work. Supposedly it had the new MopBot wipes he was waiting for all week. It was a light package, but he'd been holding it since 42nd, so he was relieved to keep it on his lap.

A 2 train came along. Chad saw how all the people were stuffed inside, so he waited for the 3, which would soon dump its contents and crowd the platform further. When the 2's patrons partially pushed out, the cars filled with even more. As the doors closed again, a fellow with an orange shirt and corduroy pants ran to try and slip in. Chad watched with a little grin. He called these poor, time-unlucky folks the Missers, and though he always hoped they'd make their train, the light schadenfreude of the moment was a treat. Keep Reading