Noah Thomas
Bio
writing at storiesbynoahthomas.com
Stories (7/0)
My Home, My Basin
I have a thing about going to cemeteries when I don’t have to, especially in a place like New Orleans. But this day it is necessary. Even so, I don’t like it. It seems to be part of the human instinct that cemeteries are a bad place. No one told us these stories when we were children, we came up with them by ourselves.
By Noah Thomas2 years ago in Horror
Burdens
The wind is what did it. Whenever Ivan gained purchase on the next snowbank, the wind would smack against his backpack, down on his shoulders, and he would slide a foot back down the mountain. His climbing rack had never felt so heavy, not over the steepest boulder of all the mountains he climbed. The wind was pushing him down, and he could not take a single step up carrying all that weight.
By Noah Thomas3 years ago in Earth
Uninfected
The dark is quiet without the roar of zombies from all around, and the screams of humans that wandered in for undiscovered food. The mall, everything, used to be paradise. All the cars on the roads stopped, the lights went off, and there was only the dull hum of hunger.
By Noah Thomas3 years ago in Horror
- Top Story - March 2021
LagniappeTop Story - March 2021
Charles Wheatley pushes through the gas station doors for the one-hundred and thirty-first time this year. For five days a week he stops on his way home from work, legs exhausted, smelling like raw meat, to buy one Sprite and one lottery ticket. He doesn’t tell anyone, even his wife. To them, the lottery is a loser’s game, but he always wins. Perhaps he loses a few real dollars, but he gains so much potential. That’s what keeps him alive.
By Noah Thomas3 years ago in Humans
The Houseplant
He first saw her on the clearance rack. Four ninety-nine; a golden pothos in a ceramic pot. His eyes held a recognition of beauty. The cashier scanned her between a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a large Red Baron. He carefully loaded her into his car, then left the other groceries in the back seat as he brought her into the apartment. He stood between the kitchen and living room areas of his studio apartment for a few seconds before putting her over the sink on the windowsill.
By Noah Thomas3 years ago in Humans
Jazmine's Shoes
Michelle tied her daughter’s shoelaces for the last time, crying tears of joy. It had been three years of bottles and waddles and her black hair was stuck to her face by the wet of her mom’s kisses, and her cheeks were red from all the excitement, and she had chosen her own outfit: the furry pink jacket they bought her for last winter, a pair of blue jeans, and the white shoes the church donated. Michelle tried to keep her nose from running: everything was wet. There were grey spots on the shoes from Michelle’s tears. But they were otherwise unsullied: Michelle was in the habit of cleaning them frequently since Jazmine always put her feet up on the seat in front of her during car rides, usually covering it with dirt. Michelle stood back up, saving her last hug for later, trying not to think about it passing.
By Noah Thomas3 years ago in Humans