Tag: Short Story

Mood by Patrick JenningsAug 18, 20157:00 am

Sink 1

I’ve always wondered what they do at Sink 1. I only see it after working hours, after everyone else has gone home, on my rounds of the building. There’s something … creepy about it. There always was, even before the night I saw all that blood in there. Blood and some sort of, flesh.

Poetry by Patrick JenningsAug 4, 20159:00 am

The Fog of Love

Continued from Enveloped.

I feel her, on the other side.
Know she is there.
Waiting.

Impatiently.

A mother knows these things.

And daughters always think they know better,
When they hardly know themselves.

I love the man.
She never understood that.
He is derisive,
Angers easily.

Abstract by Patrick JenningsJul 30, 20157:00 am

The Seashell Nebula

Continued from An Artistic Encounter With Nature

I return to Chesterman Beach every year now. It always surprises me that the house still isn’t there, that she is nowhere to be seen. I look up from the beach, expecting to see her, there at the top of the rocks, cradling a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

Detail by Patrick JenningsJul 6, 20158:53 pm

Like a hammer on a drum.

Continued from Come, it said.

Out of the darkness, I see a glint of steel, coming at me.

The glint of steel becomes a fist, becomes an arm… becomes an army.

An army of steel, allied only with steel. It marches, gleefully, through a sea of terror, slices through, like a scimitar through flesh.

No. A scythe, like a scythe through a field of humanity.

Detail by Patrick JenningsJul 5, 20157:00 am

Come, it said.

“Come,” it said, gesturing with an upturned palm, the gentleness of the movement belying the rigidity of its fingers, its joints, the stiffness of the steel with which we’d made him.

Him? It.

Landscape by Patrick JenningsJul 1, 201511:02 am

A million parallel universes

In 1996, standing atop Coit’s Tower, I scanned the city’s skyline, thinking about nearly a million souls living there, working, playing, getting over a cold, making love, fighting, watching Gilligan’s Island re-runs, having pizza and beer with friends, perhaps even taking photos of Coit’s Tower.

Abstract by Patrick JenningsJun 30, 20158:56 pm

The Turquoise River

She looked at the long, thin meandering crack trailing down the foundation wall like a coursing river. She felt compelled to trail her finger over the length of it, feeling the raspy turquoise concrete, cool under her fingertip.

“I’ll have to go get some sealant,” her husband had told her.

“But that will ruin the paint,” she replied, with an emotion that surprised her. “I don’t have any more.”

“You have to fix it before it gets out of hand.”

“But it’s such a small crack!”

He paused.

Abstract by Patrick JenningsJun 29, 201510:15 pm

Harry the Little Hurricane

Harry got his name when he was still a little swirl of wind and rain far out in the Atlantic. But Harry had aspirations. He wanted to become a grand vortex of mighty winds, driving the ocean in front of him far onto land. He wanted his rain to drown the land, far beyond his storm surge, his wind to blow down trees, powerlines, to blow the very walls off the buildings in his path.

Destruction, afterall, is what hurricanes like Harry do!

Abstract by Patrick JenningsJun 21, 20159:48 am

Photo Essay: Sanding ~ Fire

(Continued from Violet)

“This one is very, very yellow!”

She winced a little as the plea in his voice tainted the photograph of the very, very chiseled man on her Tinder app. She gave the image a flick to the right, thinking, I’ll come back for you later….

Abstract by Patrick JenningsJun 20, 201511:14 am

Photo Essay: Sanding ~ Mistaken

For a chilling moment, Janice felt Oscar’s eyes on her back. Nearly frozen with fear, she managed to steal a glance, and there he was, eyes narrowed on her, ready to pounce. Heart and mind raced — even if her feet would not — is it too far to the dryer?