I plan to post all of my short stories I submit to Writersdigest.com short story contest called Your Story.
Here is their intro to it:
"Every other month, Writer's Digest presents a creative challenge for fun and prizes. We'll provide a short, open-ended prompt. In turn, you'll submit a short story of 750 words or fewer based on that prompt. You can be funny, poignant, witty, etc.; it is, after all, your story. The winner will receive publication in an upcoming issue of Writer's Digest."
I'll post a comment each time I submit to this contest to let you all read it.
Your Story #22: Band Back Together
ReplyDeleteSuffering from a mid-life crisis, a 50-year-old businessman quits his job and goes on a quest to "get the band back together.
Red Light
ReplyDeleteThe ear piercing screech of the electric guitar cringed against the microphone’s feedback piercing all of their neighbor’s ears. As always, across the front yard in his open robe barring his boxer shorts, he banged on the front door. The screams from within the garage sounded like a murdered cat with the howling dogs, and off beat music as he covered his ears.
“Damn it Paul! Tell them kids to stop. Enough is enough, my dog’s going deaf. I don’t want to hear it anymore!” he yelled through his sagging cheeks as his toothless sneer hung on the last word. Paul stepped out to the cool night air as the angry old man waddled his way back to his porch next door. Paul walked down the driveway calm and slow and opened the garage door bringing the banging drums, yelling voices, and flat bass guitar strums into the air.
“Kids, time’s up for the night,” Paul said bringing his 15 year olds dream down to a fiery crash by saying that. The throwing of guitar picks and drum sticks littered the thinly padded carpet in the garage. The teens grumbled to each other as they walked away.
Silence hung in the air as Paul recalled the same thing happening to him at their age. He hated his father for doing that to him, but his father had no choice just as he had no choice. It was a school night and the neighbor did complain, right? He was doing the right thing he assured himself, but watching the disappointment on his son’s face was hard to swallow.
As Paul sat in the empty garage he stared at the blank walls bringing the red light that used to flood the room back into perspective. The room always shined red light bulbs from the garage rafters. The memories came flooding back as he watched the posters reappear. The Beatles faces looking back at him from behind the poster paint. The Who’s autographed picture hanging on the back wall. He blinked and the yellow light stared back at him instead and it was all gone. He sat in front of the drums on the small stool and remembered Nash’s 40th Birthday party when he picked up the sticks nearly a decade ago, but they never did play that day.
Thinking back, their band wasn’t good, they were great! Now, just a could-of-been, he knew it was a missed opportunity. He stared at the sticks in his hand and his foot tapped to the beat inside his head as he began to tap the stick on the drum. As he played he kept his eyes closed allowing the happiness to burst into his depressed head. He tried to forget his lousy job; as he left the bills in the mailbox and just played. He played like no one was watching, singing like no one could hear him. When he opened his eyes the red light was still there.
While his father played the most fantastic beats of the drum he had ever heard his son stood with an outstretched hand holding the phone. As the last of the symbols crashed Paul opened his eyes. Unsure if he was still in his youth or back in his own world he smiled. The red light surrounded him when he saw his son’s face and his smile lingered. The look in his son’s eyes was priceless; the look of admiration stared back at him. With near tear struck eyes, his son handed him the receiver and took a few steps back. Paul rose from behind the drums and walked out of the garage before answering. As he walked into the darkness of his backyard he looked back into the red light inside the garage and saw his son sit down behind the drums.
“Hello?” he finally answered.
“We are both in,” the man said.
“What?” Paul questioned.
“It’s me, Steve, and Nash is on the line too. We thought about getting the band back together. I thought I’d call to see if you wanted to practice but I can tell you’ve been thinking the same thing. We want in. We don’t want to be a could-of-been anymore. We want to be a has-been.”
“Me too,” Paul said with quivering chin as he hung up. Paul sat down and dialed the telephone again and called his boss.
“I’m not coming in tomorrow. Actually, I’m not coming in ever again. I’m going to be a has-been!”
I really like this story, but in all honesty it needs to be longer. It just feels too short. I know you had a word limit for it, but nothing syas that you can't go back and write it again, right?
ReplyDeleteTotally agree with Dave's comment!
ReplyDeleteVery cool!!!
The next short story contest ends January 10;
ReplyDeletehere's the topic of the next contest:
Your Story #23: First Date Bizarreness
Something bizarre occurs at the table next to a couple on their first date.
If you want more info about the short story contest check out this site:
http://www.writersdigest.com/YourStory/