Garrison Schmidt
Bio
I crave storytelling. I'm very excited to start posting some of my work here. I think, despite my lack of official experience in the public eye, I think I'll be able to come up with something you'll like!
Stories (4/0)
The Song of the Night
My wife snores. For that reason, I don't. I haven't slept a whole night in twenty years. No one told me that decades after you marry a woman, she could turn into a nocturnal nightmare out of nowhere. My doctor has been trying to convince me I have insomnia. That I can just take a pill and I'll "catch up" on all the rest I've been missing out on these last decades. I might be a humble kind of man but I'm smart enough to know that's not how it works. You miss sleep, it's gone forever.
By Garrison Schmidt2 years ago in Fiction
What I'm Here For
She was missing fur. This little border terrier/dachshund mix. She was shaky, barky, and stinky. In fact, any unpleasant adjective you can think of, it probably applied to this dog the first time I saw her. I didn’t want to keep her. She was only half potty trained and had real trust issues. She hid from me. She barked at me. She peed on my carpet. For the first few days my wife and I had her, I called her Little Asshole… I thought, the sooner we found her owner, the better. The only thing she didn’t do (that pest of a dog would do) was shed.
By Garrison Schmidt2 years ago in Petlife
Thaw
“The sound the ice makes when it settles over the lake is bone chilling. It echoes through the valley like spectral steel cables from the heavens. Supports that once held the solid surface in place, breaking under the weight of the ice that I now call home. Sometimes, I wonder what the lure sees as it plunges into the depths of the dark water under the lake. One moment, It’s in a nice, warm, safe RV. It’s fate is held in the shaky hands of an old bearded man wrapped in thick flannel. The next moment, a wall of ice flashes in front of its painted eyes and It becomes surrounded by an endless freezing darkness. Sometimes, I think that death might not be too dissimilar. Then again, life can be just as lonely.” Those are the first words in the dead man’s journal. The next entry goes on to say, “There’s something divinely freeing about taking a shit in the woods.”
By Garrison Schmidt3 years ago in Fiction