short story

Adored Face

/ Karina Pinella / 14 Comments

Part 3 of 3, see Part 2

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Ron surveyed the unit, satisfied his studio apartment looked tidy. He ran to the daybed to make sure he put in new sheets. This might just be the night. A light tap on the front door prompted him to straighten his shirt and greet his guest.

“You look great.” Ron swallowed, as he noticed the top two buttons of Ronnie’s blouse were undone, allowing a glimpse of cleavage.

He took her hand and led her inside. “I thought we could have our dinner first and then relax over there on the couch.” He gestured for her to sit. “Here, please.” He pulled out a folding chair from the makeshift table, made up of two TV trays facing each other.

“Pretty candles.” Ronnie commented on the centerpiece.

Ron thanked her, glad he decided to buy the two red votive candles instead of settling for his little electric lantern, seeing that the dancing flames looked more romantic than a LED.

He took out the meatloaf and mashed potatoes from the oven, relieved he had gotten to the grocery store on time before they ran out of dinner entrées. “I hope you like it.” He placed the food on the table and sat across from her.

“Thank you for making dinner. You’re quite the cook.” She beamed at him.

“I admit I’m a man of a few hidden talents.” Ron hemmed and hawed, as he bit into the meatloaf and found it to be dry. “Oops, forgot the music.” He got up and turned on the radio to a station that played instrumental music.

They ate mostly in silence, smiling at each other between bites.  After they finished, Ron served cupcakes, which they quickly consumed. Almost bounding out of his chair, he guided her to the sofa.

“I’d like to read to you a poem I’ve been working on all week.” He took out an index card from his shirt pocket. Clearing his throat, he read:

“Roses are red, violets are blue,
Every day and every night, I think of you.
You opened the door to my heart,
Which I gladly give to you in a cart.
One slam is all it takes to make me say bye.
Then I cry because I’m a sensitive guy.”

Ronnie sighed and wiped an eye. “That is the most beautiful poem anyone has ever written for me.” Ronnie cupped his face and kissed him on the lips. “I adore your face, Ron.” They both held each other’s eyes. She started unbuttoning her blouse.

He placed his hand on her arm, interrupting her reveal. “Ronnie, I have something to tell you about me.”

She looked at him expectantly.

“I . . . I . . . ahem . . . I’ve never done it. I’ve never met anyone who liked me enough to . . . “

Ron felt Ronnie take his chin so he was forced to look her in the eyes. She smiled at him and said:

“Daisies are yellow, carnations are pink,
Let me tell you what I think,
You bring out the poetry in me
Flowing so naturally.
I see it as a sign
For you and me to entwine. “

Though they fumbled at first, Ron finally had his cherry burst.

With a flourish, Cupid bows after recounting his latest accomplishment to his rapt audience. “Thank you, all, for your loving attention. I’m overjoyed to see yet another match come together so well.”
hearts
[To read the beginning: see Part 1]

Door Phase

/ Karina Pinella / 8 Comments

Part 2 of 3; see Part 1

restaurant

Ron couldn’t believe how long he’d been seeing Ronnie. Three weeks, two days, one hour, and 45 seconds, as he looked at the time change on his smartphone, the screen looking good as new. He had never had a real girlfriend to speak of so he wasn’t sure what stage he’s in now that it appears to be continuing.

After pondering this a bit, he determined he’s in the “door phase,” which means to him he has yet to get past the door after taking her back to her place. At least he’s not getting it slammed in his face. That’s progress. Another forward move is that she seems to have gotten over her ex, although he wasn’t quite sure in what way he was an ex. He thought about their date last night.

“I’m so happy we ran into each other,” said Ronnie as she looked deeply into Ron’s eyes. Then they both burst out laughing because that was exactly how they met.

Now settled down and seated with Ronnie at his favorite Italian restaurant, Ron said, “I don’t know if this is too soon to ask, but I often wonder if you’re still thinking about your ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh, he’s just an ex, but I don’t know if I would call him my boyfriend. We dated only a couple of times and then he would text me. But, he never asked me out again. He just kept texting almost every day, letting me know about his day and saying we should get together again. And then, that day the two of us met in the park, he simply said he wasn’t interested in me anymore. I don’t know now why I cried so hard. I guess I was afraid I’d never meet anyone again.”

“I was thinking the very same thing, actually. It was fate that brought us together. To be honest with you, I’ve never been with a woman this long.” Ron’s revelation made him think about his secret.

Ronnie gasped and replied, “First of all, I always thought that since we have almost the same nicknames, I felt we were meant to meet and . . . I also have never been with anyone this long.”

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Ron said, “Roses are red, violets are blue, I’m so glad I got to know you.”

“How sweet . . .”

“I’ve never felt moved to write a poem before until I met you . . . my moose, you inspire me.”

“Uh, I think it’s pronounced muse,” she whispered.

“Oh, all this time I thought it . . . no wonder it seemed kind of odd. Anyway, this is so new to me, writing poems and all that’s involved with it.”  Ronnie smiled.

As they both held hands and savored the moment, their server suddenly appeared and presented the check. The distraction ruined the mood and Ron soon took her home shortly after paying for a dinner that set him back nearly half a paycheck. But he felt it was about time to spring for a good meal. Going out to coffee shops didn’t give them enough time to talk as much as they did during dinner. He almost confided in her, but perhaps he can wait until Valentine’s Day that’s coming up soon.

To be continued . . .

Doorface

/ Karina Pinella / 10 Comments

Part 1 of 3

Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

SLAM

Bam!

“. . . damn . . .”  Ronald “Ron” Vermont stroked his nose and walked away from the unwelcome response to what he thought was a romantic overture.

Ron felt like he would never find anyone again. For the last year, he’d been facing closed doors when it came to finding someone to date. Now, it had become literal. What was wrong with him? Sure, he was no Brad Pitt, but he was neither over or underweight. He brushed his teeth and bathed regularly. He still had his hair and his car didn’t spew black smoke. WTF.

With the afternoon sun still shining, he decided to walk through the Commons to people watch if nothing else. As he strolled the winding path, his smartphone buzzed. “Sounds like the text tone,” he thought, so he looked down to see if maybe the dating app he had signed up for had generated interest. He looked to see who texted him.

“Whoa!”

“Crap!” Suddenly Ron had run into another person. Both dropped their smartphones simultaneously, and as both bent down to pick them up, they hit their heads together.

“I’m seeing stars now,” Ron said as he tried to adjust his vision to see who he butted heads with.

“I’m so sorry, I was looking down at my phone . . .” The woman then realized that he must have been too.

Ron noticed the cracked screen on his $600 iPhone, and heard cursing from the woman, who must also have experienced some damage.

“The hazards of not paying attention when walking in public, right?” The woman said, as she showed him the cracked screen on her device.

“This is the first time this has ever happened to me. I’m usually good at avoiding phone crashes. I just had a lot on my mind.” Ron apologized.

“The funny thing is I hate it when people text and walk at the same time. I got caught up with the message because I just got dumped.” She started crying.

Ron looked around, unsure what to do, but seeing that she was attractive even with mucus bubbling under her nose, he tried to comfort her. “Hey, listen, why don’t we get our screens fixed and go get a cup of coffee or tea. My friend had his screen busted and he told me where it can be fixed right. It’s not too far from here.”

“I don’t even know you. What if you’re a serial killer?” She started crying again.

Ron introduced himself and told her where he worked and lived. He even shared his distaste for horror movies and violent video games. “I couldn’t kill a spider even if you put it in front of me,” he concluded.

“We have almost the same names. My friends call me Ronnie, short for Veronica.” Ronnie’s crying subsided, replaced with hiccups. “I guess we can walk together to get our phones fixed. . .  Thanks for assuring me you’re not a slasher.” They both laughed and started to walk toward the shop to get their repairs.

After they dropped off their phones, they walked to a coffee shop to wait. As each ordered tea, they found they had quite a lot in common. Ron found he liked her enough to worry about his secret. . .

To be continued . . .

Half Breed

/ Karina Pinella / 3 Comments
monkey boy

Image: Wikipedia

While eating a banana pizza, Roscoe watches the foibles of his favorite character in a sit-com. He licks his hairy fingers clean after eating and gets up to relieve himself in the corner of his room. As he finishes, he hears the familiar turn of the key on the steel door of his Plexiglass room. Time for another exam, he thinks.

“Hey, Roscoe, ready for your check-up,” the broad-shouldered man says as he corrals Roscoe out of the room.

They walk down a short corridor and go inside Dr. Shroeder’s “Fun Room,” as Roscoe has been told to refer to it.

“Nice to see you looking bright and relaxed this time, Roscoe.” A tall, slender woman, Dr. Schroeder smiles as she takes Roscoe by the hand and leads him to an unusually long indoor playground monkey bar. “Let’s see you swing across the length of the bar twice.”

Roscoe is excited to impress Dr. Schroeder of his athletic prowess, as he starts to show off.

Dr. Schroeder is joined by her associate, who asks, “How is our monkey boy doing?”

“Please don’t refer to Roscoe that way,” says Dr. Schroeder, somewhat taken aback. “I consider him as a human boy.”

“Just make sure you give him a full body shave whenever you decide to go public with your experiment,” replies the associate.

Afterwards, the associate leaves Dr. Schroeder, who is left thinking not for the first time if she would ever reveal Roscoe is her son.

Ballsy

/ Karina Pinella / 23 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

“I’m not here to bust your balls. I’m here so we don’t get our balls busted,” the new CEO assured his employees.

Six months later, he saved the shareholders $6 million by letting go 3,000 workers.

Outside the building, sitting on a park bench were two former employees, Sam and Hank. Sam snorted, “Our CEO sure had us by the balls.”

Hank responded, “Yep, he had the balls to make us believe that if we juggled our schedule to fit his deadlines, we’d be having a ball in no time.”

“Turns out he thinks we dropped the ball.” Sam rubbed his eyes so his friend wouldn’t see them misting.

“Got that right. It’s one new ball game these days.”

Sighing, they both stood up and left, scratching their balls.

Inhale

/ Karina Pinella / 25 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

She inhales, deeply. Then coughs. A lot. Her eyes almost pop out. Slowly, she feels the effects. She inhales again, knowing another bout of coughing is inevitable. But the sweet pain shooting through her lungs is worth it for she’s sensing herself relaxing. She relishes the moment; she doesn’t have much time left. Her insides start to rebel, while from the outside her body becomes more still. What a sensation. So, this is death by smog.

. . . Home for Christmas: Part 4 of 4

/ Karina Pinella / 10 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

[Part 3]

I see you’ve gotten to the last written page, Mr. Lang. If you go to the back of the journal, I inserted the ripped part of the page there.

“Dec. 24: . . . home for Christmas. I  p . ; l ls  n  I  a e l p . . . “

It is difficult to make out the rest of his scribbles. I see you can’t decipher them either, Mr. Lang. That’s all I have for you, sir. So, if there’s anything else . . . Please let me walk you out. You know we have a beautiful place here; we don’t really see too many people come out this way. Thanks for visiting. Okay, good-bye . . .

Mr. Lang looks like he’s headed out in the same direction as our Mr. McCue. Perhaps he too will find his place in our valley. I’ve been here many years now since I’ve been given the post of Overseer. I take good care of my residents. I feed them well. In time, they will be ready to spread out and take over more of this world.

[To see Part 1]

. . . Home for Christmas: Part 3 of 4

/ Karina Pinella / 8 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

[Part 2]

“Dec. 23: I’m freaking out. Nothing appears normal here. I’ve lost track of time. The sky always looks dim and heavy. How can that be? What’s become of day and night?  It doesn’t get bright or pitch black. It’s as if there’s a dirty film over the place. My legs feel like they walked many miles, but I keep seeing my car directly ahead. Is the car following me? I can’t figure things out. I’m tired, but I can’t fall asleep. I haven’t slept since I woke up hours ago, but it must have been a whole day because I can feel my chin’s five o’clock shadow.

And what’s with these trees? Some are twisty or bent to the ground, while others are completely straight. They don’t feel right either. There’s some kind of slime coming out of the squat looking ones. I’m also starting to hear something like a cross between murmurs and light rustling. For some reason, my nose is also picking up smells that kind of makes me want to throw up.  My mind seems to be playing tricks. I’m writing what I can so I can read it later to see if I’m making any sense, although my eyes aren’t helping. They seem to getting progressively bad. Am I becoming myopic?  I’m thirsty and hungry but my body can’t seem to stop from walking around. I’ve actually tied my legs to a tree stump so I will stop walking. I can barely write.

I just want to be . . . “

To be continued

. . . Home for Christmas: Part 2 of 4

/ Karina Pinella / 7 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

[Part 1]

“Dec. 22: I’m so mad. I can’t believe I slept through the night. I lost so much good driving time! What the hell?  I set my smartphone’s alarm, but it didn’t go off. Soon after I woke up, I started driving, but I can’t seem to find my bearing. There’s no reception; my radio just spews out static. My smartphone’s good for shite. And my once-trusty compass keeps spinning around in circles as its hand goes round and round. So it’s no good here either. Weird.

I got out of the car to see if I can find anyone. Strange how silent it is out here. No wildlife sounds of any kind, or even the distant drone of a jet airplane. All I see is long stretches of dirt road with odd-looking trees. Never seen the likes of them. I tried to take a picture with my smartphone, but it’s a dud. I’m going to hike around to look for some kind of a bird’s eye view.”

To be continued

. . . Home for Christmas: Part 1 of 4

/ Karina Pinella / 10 Comments
Image: Pixabay

Image: Pixabay

Deep in the woods of Pine Valley somewhere in the northeast part of the new country is where shadows rule the isolated acres of trees. Only a few have ventured there. Among them was a poor soul by the name of Kevin McCue; he took a wrong turn as he drove on the long, winding, mind numbing drive up toward the hills. His destination was supposed to be a cozy cabin in a small town called Spruce, to celebrate Christmas with his young family. Instead, he made a detour that fateful day.

Later on, his journal was found near the Zipcar he drove. The rented Honda Civic was in a ditch. Yet there was no sign of Mr. McCue anywhere. As caretaker and Sheriff of Pine Valley, I pored over the journal to find a clue of his demise. And right now I don’t feel optimistic.

Peruse the journal entries for yourself, Mr. Lang, so you can confirm what you need to with his grieving wife. Please make yourself comfortable and read, while I pour you a cup of tea.

“Dec. 21: I’m excited to see my baby Nicole and my beautiful wife, Penny. I told Penny this is the last long distance trip I’ll take for the next two years. I’m going to be home more often so Nicole will know she’s got a daddy. I’ve been driving for eight solid hours and I’m getting tired. The weather has been surprisingly mild up here in the hills. I’ve decided to stop in Pine Valley to take a quick nap and then resume driving. My head is starting to feel light, so I’m going to stop writing for now and get me some sleep.”

To be continued