2.27.2014 - Deja Vu

It wasn't hard for him to tell that he was in a small town. As he drove down the road, he could see the characteristic traits of a simple, yet rustic paradise surrounding him. The early morning sun cast a Summer glow into the cab of his old Ford pickup. Outside, the fields of fresh crop were drizzled with the morning dew from a storm the night before. He opened his window, and felt the fresh morning air wash into the cabin and fill his lungs with the smells of the town he missed.

The high school where he graduated a decade earlier came into view as the truck headed further into town. The memories of the days in high school filled his ears with the sounds of Friday night crowds, and the Saturday night thrills of country music, blue jeans, bonfires and summer love. That was the thing. He hadn't been here in a decade. How would he know what she looked like. After all, he put his faith in the words of a stranger that knew her name, which led him back to where it all started. He composed himself and traced his way back through years of memories that he had nearly forgotten. A barrage of questions suddenly plagued his mind as 4 years of his life proceeded to occupy his rear view mirror. Where would he find her? Where should he start looking? Was he even in the right place? As the questions continued to mount, he knew he had to ask himself an important question: Would she remember him?

As the old diner came into view, so did his recollection of the late nights he had spent there as a teenager. After a late night out, they would all come here to the diner, and exchange drunken stories about their thoughts, ambitions, and love of a simple life. He met her there for the first time. It was their sophomore year, and he had just arrived after a homecoming victory. Everyone cheered as he and his team mates walked in. The positive energy of celebration filled the diner as customers and waiters congratulated the team on their victory. After the praise had subdued, he began to look around the restaurant. It was then that they landed amongst the gaze of the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen. He knew instantly, from the glow of her blue eyes, her light, smooth skin, and long, blonde hair, that he wanted to meet her. Her perfection was only completed by her outfit; a blue plaid button down and a pair of blue jeans and a pair of boots that only a cowgirl would wear. The next 2 years were spent curled up in a blanket in the bed of his truck on Saturday nights; staring at the stars in the middle of the field and talking about anything that came to mind. They would talk until the stars faded and the sun began to peak over the corn fields. To him that was love; and as he got out of the truck and approached the front door, he took a deep breath, and braced his heart for the Deja Vu that was about to become him.

2.26.2014 - First Grade

As I struggled to stay awake, I felt the warm glow of the sun as it basked through the tall, old window and landed on my arm. The end of the day was finally almost here. The clock hung over the door to our classroom like an armed guard at Buckingham Palace. I stared at it and watched the hour hand make its way toward the big "3" in a way that made time seem to slow down. I looked to the front of the classroom, and all that entertained my view was the backs of the heads of other kids in the rows ahead of me, and a dark green chalkboard at the front of the room that had been wiped off, and cleaned with a wet rag. It was the first time I had ever really seen the true color of the chalk board without a light coating of chalk dust on top of it. What once seemed like a dusty, messy board filled with math problems, vowels and misspelled words now sat empty, glaring at me with a sense of disdain about itself as the late May sun cast the light of freedom onto its bottom left corner. In four minutes, I wouldn't have to stare at that green giant, or breathe chalk dust for the next three months, but I don't think I've ever watched four minutes tick by so slowly. After staring at the clock for what seemed like an eternity, I looked back to the front of the room to hear our teacher, Mr. Randon, having a discussion with us about our summer plans. It was when he asked us about ours, that I saw 20 hands shoot up into the air; the kids below them doing everything in their power to contain their excitement and be called on first.

Most of my classmates were looking forward to going on these huge vacations, playing with Mickey Mouse's ears, and stuffing their faces with enough funnel cake to burst. Me? I was going to enjoy the average suburban kid summer. The weekdays were to be spent riding my bike around town, formulating adventures to go on, and finding new places to see. The weekends would be spent around cartoons, Nintendo, and the best PB&J's in the world. That's all their was to it, really.

Of course, Nate was going to be accompanying me on these journeys. He was always a great companion to have along. He was also always more courageous than me. Nate was that kid that always wanted to try something before anyone else, and he didn't worry about consequences all that much. He's also my best friend, and has been since pre school. We met at a summer camp not far from my house. I was sitting on a log by the lake, skipping stones across the water when he came up and skipped a stone that had me on my feet, counting on two hands out loud the number of skips it made before finally settling. He asked me if I wanted to learn to skip a rock the right way, and ever since, I don't think there's been a time where he hasn't suggested that he do something "the right way".

Ever since I knew Nate, I've seen him get into trouble a lot more than most kids. I watched him do a backflip into the ball pit at Fun World during his 4th birthday party, which got him yelled at by one of the people who worked there. I also watched right after that as he tried to eat an entire piece of pizza in one bite. That band-aide didn't come off his tongue for at least two weeks. Nate always had my back, and as soon as that bell rang, so would begin another summer, skipping rocks out by the log on the lake, trying to figure out what cartoons we should watch that Saturday morning.

Just then, I heard the most glorious sound that any first-grader could want to hear: the final bell on the last day of school. For the next 60 seconds, a combination of panic and joy erupted in my classroom as all of my classmates stampeded toward the door, thinking that it would be possible to somehow squeeze all twenty of them through the 3-by-6 foot opening. The day I had been waiting for since last August had finally come, and as soon as I walked outside, I could taste the freedom as a fresh breeze splashed a gust of warm summer air onto me. It was the simplest, yet greatest feeling of joy anyone my age could experience. I swung my backpack onto my shoulder, got onto my bus, and as it pulled away, stared at the large brick fortress that I wouldn't have to return to for three months. Summer was officially here.

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2.25.2014 - Welcome to The Short Story Daily

Hello, and welcome to what I hope becomes a very interesting writing project. The goal of this blog is to post one short story every evening that I come up with within an hour of writing. The stories will be random, and for the most part, unrelated to one another. This project will test my creative juices and hopefully, through your feedback, ultimately make me a better creative writer and copywriter. I love writing but have not had a journal of my own for a while. I'm publishing these stories for you all to read, so that you can give me feedback, which in turn makes each story better! If you think about it, you're helping me write the stories. Just remember, check back here every night for a new short story.

Cheers!

Mike