Fiction by Bill Adler

Photo by Nina Luong on Unsplash “We’re lost,” Adam said, his words punctuated by desperate gasps that burned his lungs as he plodded forward on weary legs. “We’re fucking lost. And once it gets dark, we’re doubly screwed. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to go camping in Maine; we’re New York City boys and don’t know a single thing about the woods.” “Let’s rest,” Louis suggested. “No, we fucking can’t.

Getty Images via Unsplash When Air Fresca’s public address intercom rang its banal, melodic tone, none of the passengers could anticipate the six words that followed, delivered in a breathless, staccato voice by flight 2022’s lead flight attendant: “Is there a pilot on board?” But Frank Cisco, a thirty-one-year-old stockbroker with thick, blond hair and a body that made him look more like a linebacker than a desk jockey, had been waiting for those words ever since he got his private pilot’s...

“Object 54? You waited weeks to name it and all you could come up with is Object 54? That’s a terrible name. You know that you can name the asteroid after yourself because whoever discovers it gets to name it.” “I have zero desire for the asteroid that could destroy all life on Earth to be named after me,” Kaori Sasaki said. She rubbed her temple with her left hand as she blew on her tasteless coffee to cool it. Her tenth cup in twenty-four hours. Kaori shuddered.Coldness seized her.

A bonus story Photo by Bill Adler. Now and then, I republish an older short story as a bonus story because new subscribers may not have seen it. The Liberation Gang is in addition to my regular bi-weekly short story, which will be published next Sunday, as usual. “Wolf, Cat, Panda, Elephant, Bear, do you understand your roles today?” Bunny locked eyes with each member of her team. Wolf was gray and brown with opal-colored eyes. Cat sported tabby stripes, snow-white paws, and a non-stop wagging tail.

A short story Photo by Christian Keybets on Unsplash “He wants his mommy,” William snickered. “Look, he’s crying for his mommy. Boo hoo, Bobby boy.” William pinned him against the maple tree, then knelt to retrieve a fistful of dirt. He showered Bobby’s head with soil and debris, the drizzle of earth covering Bobby’s bald head and spilling onto his face. “Look, more tears,” he said. “He’s a big crybaby.” Bobby’s tears turned the soil on his cheeks into mud.

Ten-year-old Cathy Sharpe screamed so loudly that if the window in their apartment hadn’t already been broken, it would certainly have shattered anew. Her father ran from the living room to the kitchen, sweat pouring from his face, took his daughter’s hand, and asked, “What happened, baby?” Cathy’s mom, Male, dashed into the kitchen a second later.

Photo by Stephanie Harlacher on Unsplash Grisham Levy tapped his keyboard with his left hand while he gripped his Boston Red Sox mug in his other, taking occasional sips of black coffee. Carefully, without tilting the mug too far, lest he spill coffee on his keyboard, he glanced at his watch. Although it wasn’t running, he knew it was late because his fingers, hands, wrists, arms, and shoulders ached from typing for what felt like forever. His back pained him, too.

Photo by Thanh Thang on Unsplash Chase Chastain III thumped his black leather Salvatore Ferragamo shoes against the supermarket floor and grumbled to the elderly woman checking out in front of him, “Would you hurry up?” She didn’t turn toward Chase or even indicate that she heard him.

Now and then, I republish an older short story as a bonus story because new subscribers may not have seen it. The Train Pusher is in addition to my regular bi-weekly short story, which will be published next week, as usual. Enjoy Maelstrom, the theme song to The Train Pusher, written and sung by Marina V. You can listen to more of Marina V’s beautiful songs and read the lyrics to Malstrom here. Audio playback is not supported on your browser. Please upgrade.

Diego Ramirez thought there was a fifty-fifty chance that everyone was right about him—that he was insane—but it didn’t matter because the world would end in a month. When he retired as head astronomer from Kitt Peak Observatory in Arizona at age sixty-six, he and his wife, Ying, moved to Fairplay, Colorado, where he installed a PlaneWave RC1000 telescope to savor the night sky.