J. S. Wade
Bio
Since reading Tolkien in Middle school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
J. S. Wade owns all work contained here.
Stories (244/0)
Thirty Yards
30 Yards (1965) Selma Ala 1965 The hatred outside my world first touched me at the age of eight on a cold March Sunday afternoon. While playing, a ruckus came from Alabama’s Highway 80, the road from Selma to Montgomery. I crossed the street and trespassed the base commander's yard to the perimeter fence that separated me from the world. At eight years old and the third of four boys, I had free rein within the base neighborhood. My fighter pilot dad, the Chief Test Flight Officer, had brought us to Craig Air Force base in Selma, Alabama. The students and instructors broke the jets, maintenance fixed them, and my dad performed the in-flight tests before returning to flight operations. The din from the highway grew louder.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in The Swamp
Return of the Lady of the Lake
Faithless - Insomnia *** The cool wind off Lake Michigan blended with the festive fall shoppers' perfumes, colognes, and street foods along the waterfront pier. I stumbled from shop to shop in search of the place written on the slip of paper in my hand, like a drunk trying to find his home. I reread the scrawled name, Potai's, ‘potions’ in Gaelic. Two blocks later, I discovered its weathered sign hung at eye level, descended the steps, and entered the basement shop.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
Homophoniacs
The amber candlelight flickered, and the shadowed daggers nicked their faces as they sipped wine in the Cafe Americana. Amy and Grant viewed themselves as close seconds to Hugh Grant and Renee Zellwinger. Their strong egos, and too much alcohol, enhanced the illusion. Three emptied vino bottles proved the validity of their case most nights.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Humans
Gerry and the New York Heiress
She wondered what it was like in his silent world and wished he could tell her; instead, she traced his eyebrows with her fingertips. Streaks from her finger and droplets from her eyes smudged the cold glass and formed prisms on the screen of the IPad. Gerry, with his noble face, strong jaw, high cheekbones, stoic black eyes, and the silken frame of his long ebony hair, stared at her, silent. Janice brought the tablet closer and touched her lips to the image of his full, firm lips.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
The Gift of the Socks
My real education in life began the year after I graduated high school when I met Charlie. The frigid air, a record cold at seventeen degrees, seeped through the seals of the front display glass, and I turned up the floor heater in the sporting goods store I managed. The old retail building, built eighty years earlier, didn't have much insulation and no central heating and air.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Humans
Jocassee - The Place of the Lost One
This story is dedicated to Tom Bradbury, your critiques will be missed. *** July 1974 Amelia Logan, cold, wet, and agitated, stood on the rickety dock as the angry waves from the vast lake lapped over the old wooden boards. Her stringy damp hair whipped in the wind, and her blue cotton dress, soaked, clung to her petite body. She gazed up at the gray and black clouds that roiled across the skyline that sprayed mists like a judgment on the world and its inequities. Her mind raged like the summer storm and wondered where Heidi had been the past year.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Fiction
The Gum, the Chocolate, and the Pill
The war raged on over the years between the girls and the boys at our youth summer camps and I learned a lot from them as a young man. Water balloon fights escalated into shaving cream battles. The Saran wrapped toilet seats in the girl's dormitory lead to retaliation and the clandestine theft of all the boy's light bulbs on the holiday weekend retreat. There was no chance at peace talks after that round because my friend Stephen entered the action. He was a genius (our class valedictorian years later) and read voraciously, even at camp. The light bulb heist disrupted his schedule, and it angered him.
By J. S. Wade3 years ago in Humans
Subscribe to my stories
Show your support and receive all my stories in your feed.
Send me a tip
Show your support with a small one-off tip.