The stories of Bryan Young

It was almost ten years since we’d spoken. You left so quickly that we’d made promises about circumstances under which you’d come back to me that, perhaps, we both knew neither of us could keep, though I didn’t allow myself those thoughts. Not then, anyway. I didn’t realize how much of an impression you’d made on me. In your curlicued handwriting, you’d written down you address for me to write to you. I kept that scrap of paper in my wallet for just over two years. In that time I wrote three letters and was too much of a coward to send any of them. I thought about you a lot, but my memory of you began to fade after I met someone else, but never completely. As Mr. Bernstein explained, you were my girl with the white parasol. Who knew if you’d ever remember me, but I would bet there hasn’t been a month that has gone by in all that time when I haven’t thought of you. The rest of this story is available in the collection "Cupid Painted Blind" available on Amazon for t...

by Jason Young (Editors Note: This is a complete work of fiction. So relax. Jason was trying his had at some Woody Allen absurdism...) When I was a kid my dad used to take me to baseball games at Angel Stadium and we would cheer for them the whole game. When they lost, which was the case most of the time, we would call them bums as they left the field. My dad was a bastard, and now I hate baseball. Although I never lost the urge to catch a home-run ball. He put me in little league when I was seven years old. My team never lost a game and I was the best player on the team. I played left field. In little league it seems to me that the outfielders have very little to do. Even a ball being hit by the mightiest seven-year-old batter rarely travels past the pitcher. I would get very bored in the outfield, and would feel like no one was watching me. Not that I didn’t put on a hell of a show. I once caught a ball by expanding the elastics on my pants to an absurd le...

I will present this without comment. Let me know what you think. I used to think it was clichéd in books and stories when I would read about that sinking feeling of love at first sight when you, at long last, catch a glimpse of the person you know you’re meant to spend your life with. But I don’t anymore. After I saw Katie for the first time I felt as though I was going to explode with joy and burst into forlorn tears all at the same time. It was on campus where I first laid eyes on her, beneath the shadow of “Y” mountain, before the sun crested over, spilling the rays of morning over Utah Valley and the rest of Brigham Young University. I’m not sure where she was going, but I assumed she must have been heading somewhere to study; the library perhaps. It didn’t matter. As though I were written into the pages of a dime-store novel, my heart truly skipped a beat. She had long dark hair knotted into two neat pigtails with blue ribbons. She wore a BYU t-shirt and a skirt far ...

This is but a sample of this story.  The complete version is available in my print collection  Man Against the Future.   From there, you can order signed copies, or buy it for the Kindle or the Nook. My name is Phillip Quillan and I used to be a police officer in my day and, as they say, every dog has one. Before we continue further, a few things should be noted. First, for the fact that you are reading this means that I have passed on for reasons that will most likely forever remain my own. I have requested that this be published posthumously. Secondly, no matter how ludicrous or completely untrue any of this sounds, take heart that it is the absolute truth. Finally, whenever possible, I’ve corroborated the facts and incidents with the diaries and the enumerating parties involved in this eerie situation. We begin on August 1st, 1949 in the diary of Elizabeth Shumway: I saw “it” today. I don’t know what “it” was, but it was absolutely horrid. I’m not sure how...

Here's a short exercise I wrote. I've been working on this other short story that's proving to be a bear and this sort of came out of me on the side. I dreamed of you last night. It was the type of dream where things don’t seem to happen, you seem to just know that they have. I arrived at a party that we’d both planned on attending, the location of the party seemed to be a kind of industrial building with the back wall decorated as a cave. I came out onto a balcony looking over the party to see you sitting there, wearing that short black dress you bought that night we drank too much wine and went shopping at the mall. But you weren’t happy. You were on the phone. I never knew for sure, but it seemed to be your boyfriend whom I not-so-affectionately always referred to as Ringo. It seemed as though we’d been planning on getting together for this party for a long time, but once you got there Ringo harassed you by phone… I came over to you and offered you my hand, you took...

My boarding pass said to arrive three hours early, you know, to check my bags and get through security. And so, three hours early I arrived to an empty airport and no lines for baggage checking or security. Apparently, I was on the last flight out that night. I’m not from Philadelphia and was trying to get home, so my only option was to wait it out. The Philadelphia airport is shaped like a massive “H”, with the hundred-yard crossbeam serving as a giant stretch of mall. If nothing else, I’d have plenty to do while I waited to board. The newsstand was my first stop. Perhaps, I thought, I can find something to read, you know, get my mind off of things. I’d already read the news of the day, so I walked by the newspapers. The magazines were mostly cologne and fashion ads, so I didn’t linger long in front of them, either. A bookshelf spanned the back wall. Popular fiction trash lined the shelves from one side to the other, top to bottom. Dozens of copies of Dan Brown, John Sandfo...

So, Derek asked me for a four page Pirate Club short on really short notice to try to have ready soon. Truth be told, four pages is a really tough nut to crack. This is what I came up with.... PAGE 1: Panel 1: John, standing like a captain, arms folded behind his back, is in front of an old-school wheeled cannon, aimed up at a tree. Bear and Bat are to the other side of the cannon, faces frothing with blood lust. Mike is behind the cannon, holding the rope to pull to set it off. JOHN: Members of the Bird Watchers club! The Pirate Club is prepared to board but we’re willing to grant you a most generous offer! (beat) Surrender to us and we’ll only steal your booty, but you’ll leave with your lives! (beat) Or, we can do this the hard way! Panel 2: The bird watchers tree house. Telescopes sprout from every window... A small head is peeking from the bottom of a window. BIRD WATCHER : (in a small, timid font) Never! Panel 3: Close on John, with Mike in the background. JOHN : Fire the warn...