Andy is an author raising two daughters in San Francisco. He writes short stories, novels and occasionally makes YouTube Videos.
“Music is not in the notes, but in the silence between.” - Amadeus Mozart The phone call came on the road. Michael Daily was doing his best to forget about the stock market. The New York City sun splashed down in soft golden ringlets against the glass buildings and Bob Dylan was singing about the times that were a-changing.
“Gary! Can I pet your dog?” The boy sat on a bike with one leg down. Two other kids sat behind him perched on their bikes, the hot sun beating down on their tanned skin. The leader, the one calling me Gary, looked about twelve.
Telepathy is a tricky thing. Everyone seems to have a pinch of it. People finish each other’s sentences, pictures flutter into the mind and those next to us start talking about our thoughts without us ever uttering a word. Were those thoughts broadcasted or were they received like a mental text message?
The Jinn and The Girl
The notebook held a secret. There was a Jinn inside. The notebook’s black leather was ancient, cracked by the passage of time. It’s once bright and gilded edges had rubbed away long ago. The notebook smelt of ash and sea spray. Trickles of blood decorated the pages in the middle. In the Fertile Crescent, the cradle of civilization, the notebook’s paper had been constructed of papyrus.
The Time Traveller
Gordon Stall’s father demanded patriotic perfection. From birth, Gordon was drilled to say “please and thank you,” open doors for ladies, wake up before sunrise to help his old man at the hardware store, and never complain about his chores. Long division and multiplication arrived to ruin Gordon’s perfect track record and he just couldn’t believe it when Miss Jacobson handed him the report card. With shaky hands, staring at the damned B, he vowed to be as close to perfect as a boy could get.
“Do you want to hear a fairy tale?” Grandpa Red wheezed. Screens with green lights and strange beeps mumbled next to his bed in the great house. The metronome of the heart monitor tick-tocked down the halls, reminding everyone that Grandpa Red was approaching the clearing at the end of the path.