Fan Fiction
Sleeping With Your Basketball
Dribbling my basketball up Main Street in Thomaston, Maine, heading to the academy yard to shoot around, I had to stop several times to catch my breath, and to yank the towel from my back pocket and wipe the sweat from my face and forehead. No kids around to make up teams, or even one to play HORSE with, but it didn’t stop me. I was, in my mind, the most valuable player on my team of one. Today I would be shirts instead of skins, because my 74 years old belly would scare small children and disapproving adults. Even the squirrels stood up on their haunches, to see what this ballooning blob of bloated blubber was up to on such a hot day. Thinking “no varmint ever called me Porky”, I started with a layup from the left side and it hit the bottom of the rim and came back at me quickly. Still got those cat-like reflexes Porky, I said under my breath, and dropped back a few feet and popped one in from halfway to the foul line. The sound was music to my ears, swish, nothing but net or on this day nothing but chain, either way, there’s a shot of dopamine to my brain that makes me want to do a Fred Astaire (with a dribble in the middle) across the court and do a quick turnaround jumper, swish, another surge of dopamine (also known as the happy hormone or the feel-good hormone). I can go about ten minutes non-stop, but this pesky COPD, blocks my air supply and so, before I get to my panic mode, I stop. This day I was prepared, I had my over one shoulder back pack, and it contained 4 bottles of Poland Springs (what else I’m in Maine), some bug spray, though any “squitos” today would drown or slide right off my Adonis/Buddha body, toothpicks (don’t know why), my cell phone and little notebook, which I use to keep track of how long of what I did and what it was, to be converted to calories lost, when I get home to my laptop and its My Fitness Window, and to jot down thoughts that come to me while doing, well, anything, the idea being to find the perfect alignment of words and phrases that would make me famous someday, hopefully not posthumously, and pushing for the run on sentence record. The best item out of my back pack cost 34.99, a telescoping portable stool, which I’m sitting on now. From previous experience, I know that 10 minutes of constant shooting around, with no stopping, can burn approximately 90 calories, so I make a note. I’m going to try for 60 minutes today, at least that’s what my head says. Taking 2 puffs on my Proventil (Albuterol Sulfate), and grunting while standing, round two, coming up, and I dribble left-handed to the right side of the foul line and quickly hoist up the kind of shot you use as the shot clock runs out, and boink off the front of the rim, and the ball goes, of course, running down the school yard toward Route 1. Ah, a good chance to try my sprinting technique, and makes the best use of this second ten-minute vignette. On the way back to the court, I dribble, and almost send the ball back to the road, trying to do a behind the back move that was so easy, years ago. Seems there was a lot less to go around then.
By David X. Sheehan3 years ago in Fiction
The Water Affected
He knew that he couldn't help the man. He knew that the man couldn't survive this. Maybe he would just tell him the truth so that he could make peace with whatever or whoever he believed in that might give him comfort. Stone was ruthless. That's why he was sent on this mission. That's why Stone had to die. He would kill just to build his ego and put fear into his gang. The would never disobey him. Even though Stone was dead now, his last victim would be breathing his last in just a few minutes. Such a horrible way to die.
By Nelly Black3 years ago in Fiction
The Heart of Snowmar
Tomar pats the freshly turned dirt with his shovel and wipes his brow before letting out a sigh of relief. “There,” he says to himself. Almost to make this all feel more real, “the last of the Tomar Emeralds are hidden.” Confident that nobody saw him he traveled home using what little residual power the emeralds left within him. His driving his pink convertible something, it helped him cope with his burdens. The burdens of all that power he possessed. The wind flowing around him, he could feel the inhuman speeds he was able to make the car travel at. Weaving carelessly through traffic.
By Unabated Lemon3 years ago in Fiction
The LOGO
Another rave review. Just when recording superstar Luther Pendergrass thought that he had reached the pinnacle of success in the music industry, another door swung open for him. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and passing it up wasn't going to be an option for "LP". He was given a very large sum of money from the guy who gave him his first break in the music industry, and continued to mentor and guide him along on his musical journey.
By Fred D Donaldson3 years ago in Fiction
The perfect person
I can control anything, but my emotions. That is how I will start my speech. But before I can write, I must sleep. For a girl of seventeen years old, I seem to have life down packed. Good grades- check! Good Family- Check! And a Fairly decent part time job- check! I was on track to having a great career and going to a great school. The only thing wrong in my life was you. I had never known love or made time for. I was so self-absorbed in my own success that when you came I lost all control. Emotions overtook me and I felt trapped in someone else’s body. I was a puppet with someone else pulling the strings. And this all started, the summer of 2014.
By Shannon Manning3 years ago in Fiction
Savior
She had resisted him all night. Instead of surrendering she had fought him. Each time, she fought him with everything she had in her. After the third time, he had fallen asleep. He didn't know when she had left but the last thing he remembered was her curled up into a ball, crying. Oh, well. At least he was satisfied Her, well, he really didn't care. She would either get used to it and surrender, or, fight the good fight every night. Her choice. He figured he'd better go look for her. Just as he stepped out of the bedroom he saw her standing in front of the surveillance monitor as though she was in a trance. She held in her hand a diamond powered lava ray gun, or should I say cannon. This thing could kill anything by burning and disintegrating it in a single blast. Was she planning on using this on him?
By Nelly Black3 years ago in Fiction