The stories of Bryan Young

This is something I thought I'd toss on here while I'm finishing up another short story. This is a script that I actually filmed twice, once as a mostly silent film and again as a completely silent film. Sadly, neither version exists. Hard drives crashing can be a bitch, since I was really happy with the second one. INT - UNKNOWN LOCATION CLOSE ON a desk. Two hands slap a wrinkled dollar bill on the desk. They ably tape the two pieces together, flip the bill over and tape the other side. CLOSE ON the hands putting a stack of cash and the "dollar" in a deposit envelope. I/E. CAR - NIGHT CLOSE ON the hands driving--steering--with the deposit envelope in one hand. EXT. BANK NIGHT DEPOSIT - NIGHT CLOSE ON the hands depositing the envelope in the night deposit slot. Track back to see a HOBO sleeping outside the bank. LONG SHOT of the hobo sleeping on his bench. The depositor gets back in his car and pulls out of the bank driveway, driving away. EXT. STREET - NIGHT The c...

Jason Young is back again, this time with "An Interview With God". I'll be here in a few days with something of mine, so be on the lookout. (FYI, if anyone else wants to have me post their short stories here, get in contact with me and we might be able to work something out...) Jason Young: For the record, would you please tell us who you are? God Almighty: Yes, (clears his throat) I’m everyone’s heavenly father, God Almighty. JY: And what is it you do exactly? GA: Well first off I created the world, and everything on it. I make sure……. JY: Okay, whatever. Next question. What is Heaven? GA: Well there's clouds and all that jazz, but mostly it’s the place good people go when they die to spend all eternity. JY: That doesn’t sound so great to me. Eternity is a scary word. GA: I didn’t say it was great, simply what happens. JY: What “happens” to the bad people? GA: Well they go to hell to spend all eternity. JY: That doesn’t sound much different fro...

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...