{"id":8,"date":"2015-08-26T19:01:39","date_gmt":"2015-08-26T18:01:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/79.170.40.241\/lgrevel.org\/?page_id=8"},"modified":"2020-01-01T22:48:23","modified_gmt":"2020-01-01T22:48:23","slug":"short-stories","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/?page_id=8","title":{"rendered":"Short Stories"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/span><\/p>\n

Short Stories<\/span><\/p>\n

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Eye of the Tornado<\/span><\/p>\n

It was May, 1985, and I stood in my kitchen repeating my finance professor\u2019s words, \u201cYou\u2019re all in this for the money, aren\u2019t you?\u201d Mimicking the class response, I raised my arms, hooted and stomped my feet\u00a0-- because I had just graduated from business school and been offered a job in stocks and bonds at the Premier City National Bank.\u00a0 Smirking at my compounding fortune, I kicked my salesgirl pumps high into the air.\u00a0 Never again would I have to sell those danged Cutco Knives door-to-door.\u00a0 Or badger deadbeat customers to pay up.\u00a0 Giddily I whooped, \u201cGet goin\u2019, girl!\u201d<\/p>\n

Read more<\/a><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

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Sacrament of Reconciliation<\/span><\/p>\n

Padre Hilberto sat in the confessional, knowing he should feel eager and generous about hearing Se\u00f1ora Ottilia Garza\u2019s disclosures, and regretting he could not.\u00a0 He smelled her familiar onion breath through the screen and heard her familiar complaints.\u00a0 She mumbled on and on about her husband\u2019s sin:\u00a0 his drunkenness and his long-term affair with Gloria, a girlfriend he had known before he married.\u00a0 Hilberto remembered to Uh-huh<\/em> every once in a while, but after hearing her repetitions every week for ten years, he had given up trying to get the\u00a0se\u00f1ora to talk of her own sins.\u00a0 And he was more than bored with her husband\u2019s\u2014that man never did anything new.<\/p>\n

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The Horseman ~ El Jinete<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

Juan sat before his small house and watched the black night.\u00a0 He leaned forward, peered at the dim ranch land and listened intently.\u00a0 He heard the wind blowing.\u00a0 He heard the stomp of a hoof from over near the barn.\u00a0 That stomp was his horse Morena,\u00a0signalling that she too had heard.\u00a0 There was something out there.\u00a0 Something different.<\/p>\n

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\"fence-336645_1280\"<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

Like a Bird She Could Not Catch<\/span><\/p>\n

On a fall day that could have been like any other but was not, Gwen parked her Ford truck on the dusty shoulder of a lonely road just past a little clapboard house.\u00a0 She slid out of the seat and closed the door, then peered in the window.\u00a0 Yes, the keys were still in the ignition.\u00a0 Yes, the truck was unlocked.\u00a0 Anyone who needed the truck or something inside could get in.\u00a0 Knowing that made her insides feel better.\u00a0 Her empty hands stretched out wide, next reached up high toward the last full light, then came gently down. \u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\u00a0<\/p>\n

The Moled Woman<\/p>\n

The dermatologist removed the moles one by one:\u00a0 from her stomach, her back, her neck, her arm, her brow.\u00a0 Once or twice a year, she made an appointment in a voice small and embarrassed and wondered if the doctor remembered that this exorcism was not the first--that she\u2019d had other moles removed.\u00a0 Not because he recommended the procedure, not because they were horrendous.\u00a0 They simply stood in her way.<\/p>\n

So when the planned moment arrived, she looked one last time at the offending mark and eagerly set off for its elimination.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

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\"eye-211610_1280\"<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

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\"DSC_0024\"<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

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Little Frau Kern<\/p>\n

Kerchief on her head, little Frau Kern works each day baking bread, hoeing the earth and chopping binkl firewood on a little triangle of land below a big hill covered with spruce forest.\u00a0 A hill she loves because it protects her land and her head from the chill Bohemian wind that blasts always from the northeast.<\/p>\n

It doesn\u2019t protect her from Herman.\u00a0 \u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

<\/span><\/p>\n

NOTE:\u00a0 Most of the stories\u00a0presented here are shown only as a beginning excerpt.<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Short Stories Eye of the Tornado It was May, 1985, and I stood in my kitchen repeating my finance professor\u2019s words, \u201cYou\u2019re all in this for the money, aren\u2019t you?\u201d Mimicking the class response, I raised my arms, hooted and stomped my feet\u00a0— because I had just graduated from business school and been offered a Read More …<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"full-width-page.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8"}],"version-history":[{"count":65,"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":381,"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/8\/revisions\/381"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/lgrevel.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}