short-story

A novel is just a story that hasn't yet discovered a way to be brief.

The serious writer was aware of a paradox at the heart of his art: his inner world, the place of the strongest stories, was infinite, but it was also embedded in _ if this was possible! _ an even more infinite universe of all things to write about. It was like seeing the Grand Canyon from outer space _ a huge gorge that looked like a thin trickle, impossible to miss, hard to hit.

For one_ If you shoot me and your boss realizes it was without good reason, you__l have fucked up your trial period. And trust me; I know you__e still in it._ Ian pulled open a drawer in a small brown cabinet.__econdly, it could end very badly for me and I__ rather prevent that. Getting shot is not on my list of things to do today._ He wrapped his hand around the steel grip of his own weapon and removed it from the drawer.__nd last but not least, if you plan to shoot me_ Well, it__l be a matter of which of us is quicker and has better aim._ A pleasant smile crossed his features and he casually waved the gun from side to side. __o you want to risk it?

There, in the corner under the window__he window through which he thought he saw movement before__as a slender white foot! Quinn__ heart froze in his chest and frightened bile began working its way up his esophagus. ~ "The Mirror

The frame of the mirror was a deep mahogany and carved with an intricate design of what appeared in the dim light to be leaves and vines. The mirror__ surface was clouded with dust and age, so much that Quinn could not even see his own reflection. On impulse, he rubbed a small circle with the back of his wrist but beneath the dust the glass was still milky and unclear. ~ "The Mirror

Reluctantly, he put his hand up to the cold glass. That odd tingling sensation raced through his body again. His ears began to hum and his head felt strange and heavy. Beneath his touch, the glass seemed to soften and his fingers made small indentions in the surface. ~ "The Mirror

In her hand was a necklace with a small oval pendant, a half of a locket engraved with one of the same symbols from the mirror frame__hat Quinn saw as rolling waves. ~ "The Mirror

As he carefully made his way back to the stairs and awkwardly turned off the light, he did not notice that the dark shadow he had assumed was his reflection remained in the mirror. He didn__ see the hands press against the surface and make large, liquid-like bulges beneath the glass. Nor did he hear the whispers that so suddenly and violently filled the dark, cluttered space as he had closed and locked the heavy attic door. ~ "The Mirror

Absently, Quinn reached for the sheet to replace it over the aged mirror, but the back of his hand brushed against the cold surface and a strange shiver ran up his arm and down his spine. ~ "The Mirror

Junk?_ Gram gasped. __ne man__ junk is another man__ treasure, you know.___eah, well, maybe it__ time to let another man have it, you think?_ he teased. ~ "The Mirror

I want to feel like I'm making a difference in this world. And I want some time for living rather than just working. Life is for living, isn't it? It can't be all just for working

While there may not be a book in every one of us, there is so often a damned good short story.

I imagine I should have told it to you before? I love you, Sejal.I wish for you to become my wife.Recently I__e also opened a shop in North Dakota and thinking that, just maybe, you love me too.

I__e been asking you to marry me since we met! What more do you want?

Summer sticks to her skirt sumptuously, in the shiny gray fabric hanging loosely from her curves. Her chestnut eyes, apparently hidden from strangers; her simple but graceful face, unpainted by Madison Avenue; and her straight black hair, parted down the middle without ego, all suggest a minimalist - almost pastoral - beauty that is oddly discordant with her fashionable attire, comfortable indifference to the crowds, and quasi-attentive perusal of the Time magazine unfolded over her hand.

The divorce papers remained unopened in the crisp yellow envelope. He had thrown it on his desk without a backward glance. Between his lashes, his dark chocolate eyes burned with fury but there was something else in the depths that she hadn__ seen in a long time, passion.

We pick the people who populate our personal lives as much for who they make us as for who they are. I chose Anna for the person I became in her presence, and in this respect, my love for her was a more selfish one

From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at length, through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than those whence it had issued. We called it the "River of Silence"; for there seemed to be a hushing influence in its flow. No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.