Archive for the 'Short Fiction' Category

Phillip pulled the old rugged coat closer to him. The howling wind whipped around the meagre shelter. Sudden gusts of air chilled his face and exposed fingers. The icy block in his feet and shins numbed any feeling. He stood up and tried to get the circulation going again.

Phillip cautiously peeped around the edge of the old tin shed. Dark clouds were scudding in his direction. A sudden blast of air brought a limb of a tree to the ground nearby. He tried in vain to hug the threadbare coat even closer. A loose sheet of iron rattled on the roof. A squall of rain drummed on the roof and walls followed by the hammering of hail.

Phillip reached into his pocket. He brought out his only box of matches. Four left. He would have to be very careful lighting a fire to keep warm tonight. He guarded his small cache of dry wood in the corner of the shed. As he crouched on the freezing ground he huddled into a ball and wrapped his coat around his legs. The pounding hail vibrated through the wall and rattled his teeth.

He tried to sleep.

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel

James

James hesitated.

Should he enter? What if…

All his life he’d been ruled by “what ifs”. It was time to stop. Time to bite the bullet. Time to take charge of his life.

“Carpe deum,” he muttered. What a useless mantra it had been throughout his meaningless existence. “Still, I might get a job here.”

Fighting the thudding of his heart and the shallowness of his breathing, he slowly pushed on the door. It stood firm.

He pushed again.

Solid.

Immoveable.

As he leaned on the door, the notice came slowly into focus.

“IN RECEIVERSHIP.”

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel.

Wetting a line

James stood musing. The soft slap of the water near his feet relaxed him by its hypnotic repetition.

His gaze scanned the water.

Nothing.

A pelican glided silently from behind the trees and shushed to a stop midstream. James let his mind drift. No use in concentrating on the fishing.

Nothing biting.

He propped the rod up in the soft sand. Moving his chair to the water’s edge he dabbled his feet in the water.
“Funny how they call it fishing,” he snorted aloud. “I’m merely wetting a line. Haven’t caught a thing all morning.”

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel.

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Sleepy

John gave a yawn large enough to swallow a prize-winning watermelon.
‘I think I should go to bed before I fall off to sleep,’ he muttered to himself as he staggered down the hall.

As he entered his bedroom Flipper, his two-month-old kitten, suddenly pounced him upon him.

“Yeeoow! That hurt! Why can’t you practice your claw sharpening on something other than my ankles?”

He shook the kitten free. The cat flipped over on to his back, rolled, crouched and prepared to pounce once again.

“No more!’” growled John. “Time for bed!”

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel

Boredom

She trudged the last few steps towards the door. The downpour had made the bus trip home tiresome. The house looked cold and alone. The chilled air of the darkening sky swept into the room ahead of her.

“What a relief,” she sighed. “That old grinder of a bus won’t make it one day.”
She dropped her bags on the couch and went to pour a glass of sherry. She flopped onto the seat, reached for the controls and flicked on the TV.

“Boring,” she muttered. “What I need is some excitement. No chance of that!”

All rights reserved.

Copyright 2007 Trevor W. Hampel