Stephen Vernarelli
Bio
Vernarelli is from Baltimore, MD. He co-founded Golden Artemis Entertainment, collaborated with ex-wife, writing partner, Catherine Duskin, which is producing their screenplays. See more here: www.goldenartemisentertainment.com/about/Bio
Stories (15/0)
Abduct - Tease
ABDUCT - TEASE Fritzie Salmano dared to open her eyes and screamed. It was a body beneath her--Harry Poller--in his satin, glitter-suit. But where was the stage? Where was Lincoln Center? She glanced around and tumbled from the still performer, whose head suddenly lolled to one side in a ghastly manner. His big saxophone was still around his neck. Her camera hung from her own. She jumped back, thinking him dead, and struggled to keep from losing control. She felt jolted like her body had gone through a lightning bolt. A whiff of ammonia worse than the stuff under her sink smacked her brain, gagging her.
By Stephen Vernarelli2 years ago in Fiction
Stolen Future
Stolen Future "Did you lock the truck?" "No, didn't you? What's the worry? Whoever's coming is in too much of a hurry anyhow." Benny leaned up on the limestone bluff overlooking Wind Valley and squinted up at her. Serena reached for her blouse and slipped into it.
By Stephen Vernarelli2 years ago in Fiction
She Brought Him a Bowl of Lush Desire
25 September 1944 An old orchard in the north of Occupied France The small detachment of soldiers from the 30th Infantry Division trudged their way through scrub forest barely 3 miles from the small village Allied forces had just reclaimed after a furious battle last week. The local villagers had warmly showered their gratitude on them even though the war was far from over. Germans still held positions North and East, although the Invasion Overlord in June had forced retreat. Rain had begun falling, softening their progress across loamy terrain, strengthening the mulchy odor. Led by First Lieutenant, Arnold Vernarelli, a spry, wiry Italian from Baltimore with smoky, dark eyes and a glance that could make you think you offended him, the detachment was fervent, yet battle weary, having over the last many months advanced through Italy and thence into France to force the enemy to relent. Now, as they approached what appeared to be an old orchard with much open field and a slope up to a small hilltop where their intelligence had warned was a machine gun bunker held by a similar number of Germans, Lt. Arnie as his men called him, cautioned them to stay low. They were nearly equally matched at ten but for the muzzle of the MG-42 “Buzz Saw” machine gun above them.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
Caroline's Splash of Light
Caroline’s Splatter of Light Bath, England, July 1782 Caroline Herschel peered again through the lens as she pondered the tiny speck, she’d seen in the vicinity of the new planet her brother William had discovered just the previous year that he had dubbed, Georgium Sidus in honor of their good, kind King George whose benevolence had allowed their study to continue. Had she actually seen something that looked like a tiny splash of reflected light from that tiny dot of luminescence her lens was focused upon? Could she have seen a different object entirely-a new planet herself? William had only recently trained her on the magic of the wondrous telescope, and she could only use it when he was away. She had eagerly learned all its mysteries and still more were always apparent each time she investigated the sky. Excited, she carefully adjusted the focus to a keen sharpness, and placed her good eye close careful not to move the telescope a fraction, for the area of sky along the solar ecliptic was tiny indeed. One minute vibration would set her view asunder by a degree - a matter of hundreds of thousands of miles if not millions in the backdrop of stars.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
And the World Turned...
And The World Turned "Can't you go any faster, Bilik?" Harry Jackson peered out upon his city with anxiety. At 135 years old, he felt hesitant as he neared the sky tower of Andern Terrace—Bernard’s domain. New Benton had enveloped the former Midwest of what was now Amexada and gleamed with interconnected skyscrapers. Age-defeating Med Beds had revolutionized society back in 2025. Harry had undergone four treatments and had retained his athletic look. He'd played pro football more than a century ago.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
SLOUCHING TOWARD APOCALYPSE - A VISION
Slouching Toward Apocalypse The other day, Marvin left his job at the New York Stock Exchange totally exhausted from the day’s frantic drops in markets across the board. He had never seen such before, although he was aware of course of 1929, nearly a century ago. He walked along and approached the famed, Raging Bull of Wall street-the shiny bronze bull that symbolized the best of market conditions in his opinion. He paused a moment, staring up into its frozen, timeless eyes and then headed down the street to catch his subway home.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
The Old Man's Jazzy Trip
The Old Man's Jazzy Trip—A Tribute to American Music and Music People "Well now, Sonny (Rollins), after I won that Oscar (Petersen), I was sure enough (Buddy) Rich, thanks to the music Art (Blakey), I learned as soon as I could Count (Basie). Yeah, it was the real McCoy (Tyner) and I felt royal like a Duke (Ellington). I felt so Dexter-ous (Gordon) and important. I was so glad from all the attention, I thought I might get a case of (Eddie)Lockjaw (Davis) from smiling so much. It wore me out, so I decided to go off on a (Billie) Holiday with a sweet Chick (Corea) named Sarah (Vaughn), since Mary Lou (Williams) was too busy.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
CATFISH WISDOM
Catfish Wisdom Grandpa Ed died in 1973. He taught me about skinning a catfish during my summers in the early Sixties. I was skinny, with red hair, freckled, and not much taller than the rusty oil drum beside the old red barn out back. That patch of soil in dusty Geronimo, Oklahoma was a favorite spot for the farm cats. Kitchen scraps lay strewn about the weeds, becoming compost. Grandpa Ed used the 55-gallon drum to burn trash. Inside was sooty and smelled like burnt paper. A concrete block was beside it in the dirt. A piece of plywood leaned against the drum. Grandpa Ed used it as a fish-cleaning table whenever we came back with a catch.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Humans
ENIGMA
ENIGMA “Grandpapa, why do you always go out on the porch when you hear that choo choo train?” Mirabella, my thigh-high Great-Granddaughter with curly black hair that bounced all over her head asked as she squiggled onto the couch closer to the heat of the stove, eyed me as I stood in the doorway. She had learned about trains now that one existed again. Fog was thick by the river, but above, the sky was stark and clear. Cold starlight sent a shiver of dark memory through me. Even after the crazy passage of time as was my odd fate, I had not yet been home from out there for long enough to forget…The archaic diesel train rumbled enigmatically through the misty river valley, its chordal whistle wailing in the twilight. My consciousness sought the receding sound as it dwindled into the distance, lonely and haunting—a relic from a previous century, just like the wood stove burning a cheery heat—just like me, Henry James Stanton, Ph.D., an eccentric history buff and once hugely celebrated voyager to the deepest reaches of our solar system. Smoke rushing airily up the flue joggled me back into the presence of the room, also an artifact of sorts, the entire house recreated for me in the style common over five hundred years ago—a small comfort.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
URANIAN VIOLET
URANIAN VIOLET The Uranus Robotic Survey Assignment mission of 2133 had been successful. The URSA probe had returned after orbiting Uranus seven months, thrice dipping into its gaseous atmosphere, sending back streams of data and taking samples. Big media coverage of the returned probe landing had possibly caused the error. Scientists and astronomers had gloated over the information disks, passing over a few seemingly unobtrusive, purple stains on the skin of the probe. They were briefly studied, determined unexplainable and forgotten in the wealth of other details.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
URANIAN VIOLET
URANIAN VIOLET The Uranus Robotic Survey Assignment mission of 2133 had been successful. The URSA probe had returned after orbiting Uranus seven months, thrice dipping into its gaseous atmosphere, sending back streams of data and taking samples. Big media coverage of the returned probe landing had possibly caused the error. Scientists and astronomers had gloated over the information disks, passing over a few seemingly unobtrusive, purple stains on the skin of the probe. They were briefly studied, determined unexplainable and forgotten in the wealth of other details.
By Stephen Vernarelli3 years ago in Fiction
