Pitt Griffin
Bio
Stories (31/0)
- Runner-Up in Tautogram Challenge
- Runner-Up in Broken Mirror Challenge
The Glass LiesRunner-Up in Broken Mirror Challenge
I. The mirror showed a reflection that wasn't my own. I looked at it, as I had every morning for 37 years. It was the image of a kind man - the sort who gave five dollars to panhandlers and smiled at baristas. The face was unlined and ageless. It was an arresting face. Not pretty-boy handsome, but well-chiseled and distinguished. Trustworthy, my customers called it.
By Pitt Griffinabout a year ago in Horror
Opening doors
November 2022, Brooklyn, NY. Azra was doing her homework in the bay window niche of the Cobble Hill brownstone when the box arrived. A buzzing made her look up. Outside, a drone deposited its load on the stoop. She swiveled in her chair and announced into the room.
By Pitt Griffinabout a year ago in Fiction
Sam plays football
I cannot remember the day we brought Sam home from Harrods. I was very young. And he was younger than me - even in dog years. He was a pitch-black toy poodle. And home was a brick house that backed onto London's Holland Park in what was then the Royal Borough of Kensington.
By Pitt Griffin2 years ago in Families
The Father I Didn't Know
My father was distant when I was young. Not just emotionally but often physically. He was a quiet man. He spoke little and faced the world with an expressionless calmness. He also had a job that required him to travel extensively from our house in London. He would be gone for days in Europe and sometimes as far away as Australia. And to my way of thinking, that was how fathers were.
By Pitt Griffin2 years ago in Families
A Journey’s End
I am old now. The end is near, but I have no fear. My life has been long and complete. I have fond memories and a family to carry on my name. Which, just in case it’s important to you, is Michael Alba. And now that I have your attention, and with your permission, I wish to tell you my story. It is an ordinary tale. Important only to me and my family. But maybe you have some time to kill and have nothing better to do.
By Pitt Griffin2 years ago in Fiction
Vita’s Arc
The Cross Vita Cayetano lived with her husband in Jackson Cross, a town in the Arizona desert, just north of Winslow and just south of the Navajo Nation. And miles from England, her native country. Who Jackson was is now lost to time. And whether the Cross was a religious reference, no one could say, there was no church in town. On Sundays, Christians would go to services in Winslow. And after church, they would troop to Marlene’s diner, which everyone agreed was the finest restaurant in town, and inexpensive to boot. Others, who communed with the spirits sacred to the indigenous, would drive rusty trucks or well-used gas guzzlers up to Tolani Lake.
By Pitt Griffin2 years ago in Fiction
Trump's ex-Ambassador to Iceland is revealed as an incompetent, erratic, paranoid, lying sadist
Being the Ambassador to Iceland would seem like a cushy gig. The people are friendly, they speak English, the crime rate is low, the music scene is active, and there is nothing like a relaxing dip in heated mineral-rich water to ease a troubled soul. Granted there will not be much lying on the beach, but there is still plenty to do. But Trump’s pick for the position, Jeffrey Ross Gunter, could not handle it.
By Pitt Griffin2 years ago in The Swamp
Madda Femi's Long Reach
April 1799 An Atlantic gale strained HMS Lutine’s masts against her shrouds and stays. The wind roared capriciously, veering from west to north and back again. The ship see-sawed, heeling to port and starboard, pitching and yawing at the waves’ direction. Torrential rain lashed her deck. Lookouts, blind in the darkness, peered for any sign of land. The sounding line warned of a rapid shallowing beneath the keel. The shriek of the storm drowned out the Captain’s commands. And junior officers braved the heaving deck to cajole the sailors manning the halyards and sheets to drop some sails and keep the others taut.
By Pitt Griffin3 years ago in Fiction
A Respected Journalist’s Descent into Insanity
The talking heads at Fox News’s ‘Outnumbered’ were discussing a Florida diner owner. Specifically, her refusal to serve Biden supporters, because of the President’s Afghanistan withdrawal and her belief he had stolen the election. The conversation was the usual boilerplate conservative outrage at a Democratic President, featuring a ‘real American’ putting her principles before profit — until it was Lara Logan’s turn.
By Pitt Griffin3 years ago in The Swamp
Jenny Got Her Gun
Early September is bittersweet. Summer’s games and romance are consigned to memory. Washing machines have dissolved salt-tinged stains and leached away the coconut sweetness of suntan lotion. Bathing suits and beach towels are packed away. Kayaks and paddles, coolers and racquets are stored at the back of garages or in garden sheds. Crisp tan lines begin to blur. And school starts again.
By Pitt Griffin3 years ago in Fiction
Achieving Greatness
May 1, 1986 Sitting in a tent, swaddled in a blanket, Ann stared out over a white wasteland of ice. The wind whipped across a monochrome landscape, where signs of humanity were few, fragile and temporary. She was cold, but she had been cold much of her life, and it invigorated her. It cleansed her soul and stripped her psyche of the detritus of daily life. It sharpened her focus and fired her ambition.
By Pitt Griffin3 years ago in Fiction