Jeremy Moran
Stories (2/0)
No Change to Spare
No Change to Spare “From what I remember of that night I took a cab home from LAX. It was a Tuesday.” I admitted. I continued to confess about the events of that day, of that night. It felt like it happened in another life and in another time. Sitting there for hours I poured over every detail in my head before letting it spill out of my mouth. I had the cabby drop me off around the corner from my apartment. I don’t know why but it’s something I always do. The weather was nice that night, cool and breezy. Maybe that’s why I liked to be dropped off a few doors away. I was only about a hundred yards from my front door when Casey surprised me from the shadows. For a twenty-six-year-old she dressed like a teenager but if anyone could pull it off it was her. She donned short shorts, a pair of white mismatched knee-high socks, one with two red stripes at the top and the other with one blue stripe. Some obscure band t-shirt that no one but her has ever heard of. The truth is, and she would fiercely deny this, she never really listened to them either. She cruised by on her roller skates, never roller-blades, always roller-skates, spinning around me making me dizzy. I tried to play it off as if she didn’t scare me but she knew that she had. And she knew that I knew that she knew. It was frustrating.
By Jeremy Moran3 years ago in Horror
Dark Fortune
It’s a hot Summer night, the ones that are hotter than when the sun is overhead, as Marcus sits on the front porch swaying back and forth in a rocking chair to kill the last remaining hours of the night. Trying to sleep at this point would be futile with the stifling heat of his bedroom on the third floor of his mother’s house. The feeling of being nearly forty and again living back home is depressing in every way possible for him. Everything he worked for, fought for, planned for, and executed, all but disappeared in a flash of a moment when his, now ex, wife decided to empty their accounts and vanish into an unknown existence. That day, the day, one he can’t forget, one that is burned into his frontal lobe forever more, he pulled into his driveway, slipped his key into the lock on the front door and it wouldn’t turn. He stood there confounded with questions. More than he possibly could compute in the seconds that led up to the following events.
By Jeremy Moran3 years ago in Criminal