Michael Critzer
Bio
I write stories when I should be grading papers.
Stories (3/0)
A Fire in Wynter
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Outside, a Studebaker rattled the boards of the small creek bridge. Wren looked up to see her tiny childhood home, gleaming in the moonlight. She saw her bedroom window, where as a girl she’d sit on her hope chest, brushing her long black curls. She’d imagine the men who would come take her away from this hillbilly town—first the father she never knew, the king of some small European country. Later it was Rock Hudson or Cary Grant, who had heard of their would-be leading lady trapped in the mountains. As the car’s tires now jostled the uneven gravel, Wren steeled herself against the guilt she’d felt for leaving.
By Michael Critzer2 years ago in Fiction
Sirena
I don’t remember the circumstances surrounding my initial decision. There are things one loses in the arms of a lover. I recall despair—despair and loneliness—so great that I strove like a madman to remedy it. But such a thing could not be left to fate. Like a fool, I had been searching the world around me until I realized the soul’s truest companion—its mate—could only be found within, where the need is great enough to define the smallest detail.
By Michael Critzer2 years ago in Fiction
Girlfriend in the Basement
Robert and Vanessa returned from their honeymoon of scenic, mountain views to an out-of-town airport and a two-hour commute. They arrived home to find news vans parked before their lemon-yellow bungalow. Vanessa’s mother shooed at cameramen standing in the tulip beds. Her father, still spattered with lemon-yellow paint, led the bewildered couple inside to shut out the crowd. Two men waited in the living room. One wore a dark suit, pressed against their peach couch. The other held a dolly containing a long wooden crate with Tigris Industries stamped on the top.
By Michael Critzer2 years ago in Fiction