Category Archives: Short Stories.

I needed her like I needed gas in my lungs.

I needed her like I needed gas in my lungs.

I saw her at that party and I knew all about her.

The way she jumps around from boy to boy, breaking hearts with her big eyes and long brown hair.

She looked at me and I looked at her.

She was smiling.

At me.

I smiled back. Let her think I’m falling for her, I thought.

She stood up from the couch in the corner of the room and made her way over to me.

“Hi,” She whispered in my ear. “I haven’t seen you before. What a shame.”

I moved away. “I’m new here. From LA.”

She seemed shocked by my wanting to distance myself from her, so she moved closer to me.

“Want to go somewhere where we talk… alone?” She looked at me and smiled, her eyes shining with power.

I smiled back. “Sure. I need you.” I replied to her.

Her eyes widened but her sleazy smile stayed.

“Oh really?” She inquired, her arm slithering around my back.

“Oh yeah.” I whispered in her ear.

“I need you like I need gas in my lungs.”



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He kissed her like her lips were air and he couldn’t breathe.

He kissed her like her lips were air and he couldn’t breathe.

He knew that this was it, and that everything was going to be okay.

Until she broke the kiss, and her eyes welled up with tears.

I’m sorry, was all she said.

And she left.

So he left.

No longer with oxygen in his lungs, until he would find another pair of lips to kiss.



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Read this the way it should be read, then backwards.

Inspired by 300 stories post a long time ago, he created a story that could be read both ways. Here is my attempt. Hope you enjoy.

Ice clinking.

Teary eyes.

Loud voices;

Clear cool liquid.

Vodka wins.

Every time.

Every night. 


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Snip, Snip.

“Put the scissors down. Now.”

I threw the scissors into the sink.

“I hate you.” I whispered into the mirror, staring at my older sister in the glass.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed the scissors from the sink and hid them behind her back.

“I wasn’t doing anything, but I was about to. Until you stopped me.” I started walking out of the bathroom until she grabbed my arm and spun me round.

“Don’t you ever, ever, think about cutting your hair again. Okay?” Her blue eyes stared into mine, full of threat, yet also sadness.

“Is that a threat, Jane?” I said smiling.

Jane swallowed.

“Yes. Yes it is, Rita.”

I pulled my arm out of her grasp and walked out of the bathroom and into my room. I slammed the door, and it took everything in me to try and not punch it. I grabbed my teddy bear on my bed and threw it at the door.

I hate this. I hate this.

One problem I’ve noticed over the years when you realise that you don’t feel comfortable being a girl is that when your family realises, they tend to think you’re going through a “phase”.

Hm, I’m sure you’ve heard that one before, right?

A “phase”. My mother would say: “Oh Rita, it’s your hormones running wild. Don’t be so silly. You’re a girl. It’s just a phase.”

But then I started buying men’s clothes and I went to the gym almost everyday. I started getting mistaken for being a male at department stores, as I’d tie my hair up instead of having it all loose and… girly.

My family started to worry as people at school started avoiding me, even my friends. So, now I’m homeschooled.




Depressing right?

Then, I remembered that I had hidden the kitchen scissors under my nightstand. I lay down on the dusty grey bedroom carpet and stuck my hand underneath the table, until I felt the sharp metal.

Found it.

I grabbed them and stood up, walking towards the mirror next to my window.

I placed a chunk of hair in between the sharp blades.

Snip, snip.

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The Sad Saxophone

I always heard the neighbour upstairs play their Saxophone at exactly 11 am, every Sunday.

Never 11.01, or 11:03.

Always 11.

The songs always started with jazz, and upbeat melodies that made you want to tap your feet and kid yourself that everything was okay.

But at exactly 11:30, the joyful cheery music would stop and there would be a pause for exactly 10 seconds.

I counted every time.

Then, low, long soulful notes would break the silence, and I swear the whole of New York City would stop just to hear the melancholic melodies from this one person in their apartment.

The world would stop for the Sad Saxophone.

At least, that’s what I called it.

My room mates told me that no one ever knew which neighbour it was who played the Saxophone, as everyone on that floor never really left their apartment, so it was hard to play the guessing game and rule out each neighbour.

For a while we thought it was the neighbour directly above us, so one day me and my roommate Tracy knocked on the door after the music had stopped playing.

We knocked.

No answer.

We waited.

And knocked again.

No answer.

We eventually got the idea that no one was coming to the door, so we left and never went back.

So the Sad Saxophone continued to play, and I started waking up earlier so I could make myself a coffee, and lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, the music from the Saxophone became the background music to my thoughts.

The melodies were very similar, and it was only after a month of hearing the Saxophone that I could really differentiate the difference between each melody.

It’s Sunday now, and it’s 11.01.


And I hear nothing.



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“Even my friends aren’t my friends”

Gina sat in the cafeteria surrounded by her friends, quietly munching on her apple.

“Oh my God, it was AMAZING.” Gushed Lucy.

“Yeah, I can’t believe how many cute dresses we found for Prom, such a good day – we should do it again.”

Gina stopped munching. “Wait, what? You guys went shopping for prom?”

The rest of the table fell silent.

Sally’s cheeks went bright red. “Erm, yeah. On Saturday.”

Gina frowned. “Oh. I thought there were no plans for this weekend. That’s what you guys told me.”

“I’m going to go to the bathroom. Anyone want to join?” Lucy grabbed her lunch tray and left the table. Sally got up, then Grace, then Tracy.

Gina was all alone at the table.

“Bitches.” Gina whispered.


“Wait. They didn’t invite you to go prom dress shopping with them? I thought these were your friends?” Jake, Gina’s brother was sitting on the roof with Gina, smoking cigarettes and drinking stolen liquor from their parent’s cabinet.

“So did I.” Gina replied, taking a swig from the bottle.

“Even my friends aren’t my friends.”

Jake nodded and took a puff from his cigarette. “I know exactly what you mean.” He paused.

“Gina, when you leave high school and go to college, you’ll realise that you were only friends with people because you saw them 5 days a week.”

Gina coughed and put her cigarette down. “Why do we try so hard to be so nice to people who really don’t care about us?” Gina put her head in her hands. “I always do this, but why do I care so much? I shouldn’t.”

Jake sighed sadly. “We accept the love we think we deserve. That goes for kindness too. It’s the way we are, Gina.”

“Pass the bottle.” Gina replied.

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“I’m not a sad story, you know.”

Her name was Sam Kennedy, and she had soot black, shoulder length curly hair, with thick dark eyebrows and eyes the colour of the sky on a clear day. She wore all black, and the same black leather jacket everyday. She smelt like sadness and cigarettes.

The first time I saw her I was in the library checking out books my college professor recommended for me – mainly books about Harper Lee as we were reading the ever so famous “To Kill a Mockingbird”. I was leaving with a pile of books so high that I had look around them to see where I was going. I ended up bumping into Sam and almost dropping all my books.

“Oh, sorry. Excuse me…” I said walking around Sam who was now smiling and raising her eyebrows.

“Hey, I know you. Toby, right?” She stood in front of me, blocking my path.

“Er, yeah. That’s me. We have English lit. with Mr Reynolds, right?” Sam nodded. I was struggling with all the books in my hands. “Listen, sorry Sam. I have to go…” I gestured to the books with my eyes. Sam was still smiling. “Sure, Toby. See you around.”

After meeting in the library, we ended up meeting there everyday. I helped her study, and she helped me relax. We started going out to the college’s café every afternoon after our lectures, and we talked about our lives and who we were and wanted to be.

“I’m not a sad story, you know.” She was smoking as usual, and sipping black coffee. I paused mid sip of my hot chocolate.

“I know.” I replied.

Sam laughed. “No you don’t, Toby. No one really does, if you think about it. Just because I wear black and smell like Marlboro doesn’t mean anything. It’s just me. Doesn’t mean I’m sad, or whatever. It’s huge misconception. Guys always try to ‘fix me’. It’s pathetic, really.” She exhaled her smoke, staring at me. “So don’t think I don’t know what your aim is. I know guys like you, and I know what your plan is. I have you all figured out.”

“I don’t love you. If that’s what you’re thinking.” I lied, looking at her.

“Oh, I know.” She looked down at her lap. I frowned.

Sam looked up.

“Because that’s why I love you.” She responded.

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