Steven A Jones
Bio
Aspiring author with a penchant for science fantasy and surrealism. Firm believer in the power of stories.
Stories (14/0)
The Eternal Partridge
Under any other circumstances, being inside Zalo’s Emporium of Magical Mischief would have been awe-inspiring. James Walton was the first Mundane employee granted entrance to the shop in some 83 years. What's more, in precisely 73 minutes he would also be the longest-tenured non-magical associate; assuming Donald Rawlings from Gessie, Indiana, never found his way back through the wormhole in the supply closet.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
The Curse of Still Water Lake
Nearby settlers claimed that Still Water Lake froze over when the winds stopped blowing one winter; that the summer sun never made it over the mountains. More seasoned travelers traded rumors of angry gods and child sacrifices as they passed through the Chippewa trading post at the head of the trail. Jack Fowler considered himself a man of science and reasoned that talk of the unthawing lake was either rancid scuttlebutt or a greatly exaggerated climatological oddity. His older brother, however, believed wholeheartedly in phantoms of every shape and sort.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
g1ass h0uses
Three days after being unceremoniously fired for time theft, David Gomez found the broader world ambivalent at best. When his boss pulled him aside and unveiled the creeping optimization conspiracy phasing out human influence on the world, he imagined it to be the dawn of some romantic revolution; humanity pitted against its own unfeeling, diabolical creation. What he got was an algorithm, programmed to anesthetize and replace the masses, which had largely succeeded and now treated its opponents with the same apathy it had forged in them.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
Magic is Bull💩
James did not consider himself a failed actor; just an undiscovered talent who needed a temporary job from time to time. Between failed pilots and missed breaks, he followed a sort of standard protocol: upload a semi-factual resume to every site that would take it, get a bunch of spam emails from pyramid schemes looking for charismatic-but-impressionable young talent, and eventually return to the same restaurant he’d passionately quit several times before.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
Pressed Flowers
Five years in, Kelsey was still astonished at the dryness of Texas soil come August. You could soak it with a hose twice in a ten-hour span and you’d still wake to find it parched or even cracking the next morning. Still, she and the garden did their dance every new day: drench the soil, prune the flowers, pluck the tomatoes from their sprawling vines. Every few days she had the grim privilege of crushing a parasitic worm between her bare fingers, just to shake things up.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
Calvin's Care Package
The paper was the weird part. Calvin had received countless care packages from his parents during his first year at ISU -- ok, countless packages from Mom and one short letter from Dad reminding him that degrees were expensive and failure builds character -- but none of them had ever come wrapped. Really, “wrapped” wasn’t the right word here. To say that something has been wrapped implies a level of care that escaped whoever mailed this particular parcel.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
Want to "Wow" Your Crush? Bake This Irresistible Chocolate Cake
This is, hands-down, the most unforgettable cake I’ve ever baked. I remember the first time I stumbled across the recipe at the back of Mom’s cupboard, hidden behind legions of jars filled with sprinkles from the early 1990s that probably still haven’t expired (I highly recommend fresh sprinkles, but honestly you don’t need them with this recipe. It's that good). Prom was two weeks away and my crush — ugh, remember those days? — was all set to be Homecoming Queen with one of several muscular-and-generically-handsome dudes by her side. I had a powerful need to eat my feelings.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
The Boyd Family Storehouse
Before Michaela could lift a spade, she had the rules memorized. Love the earth and it will love you. Share the harvest and you won’t go without. Never take more than you need from the barn. Every night, she fell asleep whispering those rules into the rafters, drowned out by creaking planks and the soft rustle of the crops outside her window. That mantra and the shabby farmhouse were her inheritance; the sacred rites she owed to her father.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
Scarlet
Before I met Natalie, I thought of weddings as selfish affairs. Only the married folks in attendance can really appreciate all of the expensive, colorful things on display. The rest of us just sort of sit and wait for the thin slice of enjoyable time between the ceremony and the part where everyone who sees in color takes over the dance floor. Then we watch them glide around in black and white. It's unbearably classy.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction
Give and Take
Prim, proper, and emotionally frozen. Every client -- every session -- is the same. Over the years, I've learned to channel the discomfort of their assertive handshakes into a smile. Honestly, I can't remember what genuine human contact feels like. Which, I suppose, is the cost of doing business at six figures per hug.
By Steven A Jones3 years ago in Fiction