The stories of Bryan Young

Jason is here again with another science fiction sort of story. I quite like it. The universe is a device of uncertainty. Time passes strangely within its borders, as in places where matter doesn’t apply. The only thing in the universe that is faster than light is dark. We know this because the dark heralds the light. The universe expands at a pace that exceeds light speed; it is the pace of darkness. Matter doesn’t come from nowhere, it comes from a place that isn’t. It could only go by the title of unreality. This is where the universe draws its material. The universe seeps into unreality, at a destination immeasurable using time or space. An organism comprised not of atoms, but of anti-matter in a somewhere that has no life or death sits in waiting. Waiting to be absorbed and merged with a universe. Outside of the laws of the universe the organism moves at random through unreality, wherever it wishes to be, it is. Here is not farther than there, they both exist simultaneously...

So, I've been working on the new screenplay and haven't had much, if any, time for short stories. There was a longer one that I was working on for last month, but I never had time to work on it. So, this is what you get in the meantime. I hope to have the new one done before the end of the month. Meanwhile, there's going to be some flash-fiction, more poetry and I think Jason has another short story percolating. Enjoy it (and tell your friends to stop by for a visit)... She awoke alone, his familiar form absent from the bed next to her. The smell of morning coffee wafted up the stairs and she took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma while she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. As soon as her eyes opened, she could see the light seeping in through the edges of the Venetian blinds was still the gray of early morning or an overcast day. Drifting in and out of consciousness for the next ten minutes, Vicky finally pulled herself into the full realm of wakefulness and rolled out ...

I'm going to be honest. I think this is the best story Jason has written to date. They lit the sky on fire. The planet was dying. They released chemicals into the atmosphere that were supposed to turn the pollution into clean air. It didn’t work. The sky is made of lead. It rains bullets. You would’ve thought we’d have learned our lesson, but we are worse now then ever. I am certainly the last man alive. I am the lucky one, or the unlucky one depending on your point of view. I was testing a space suit beneath the manmade ocean when they ran their experiment. I lost all communications, and when I emerged from the bowels of the rapidly evaporating Cerulean Ocean, I was crushed with twice the amount of pressure than from the bottom of the sea, the planets new atmosphere. The space suit works like we hoped it would. I immediately take shelter from the metallic storm, in the space test center where this suit was designed. No one else is alive. Dead bodies fill the rooms like A...

UPDATE: Since this is the story that gets by far and away the most traffic on the blog, I would like to direct you to where Jason and I are selling short stories for the Kindle like this one. For his click this link , for mine, click this one. My little brother is back again with another short story. I'll have one up myself in the next week myself. Follow us and spread the word if you like this stuff. (Also, I've posted a smattering of poetry since this went up, but put it behind this post. You can read it here and here .) Hello, this is Jason. I would just like to say to anyone that is about to read this story that I appreciate anyone that does take the time to read it, and if you have any thoughts afterwards feel free to leave a comment. As I can only assume I will learn more with input. Far from apologizing, I would also like to state that this is an experimental piece for me. Being the first story I have ever finished that wasn’t a comedy. I had fun writing it,...

It must be spring or something, because all of this poetry is coming out of nowhere. Did someone put some type of hex on me? (Hell, I did these two just a couple of days ago, too...) In any case, I hope this stuff doesn't suck. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm not a poet. 1) Love: When I'm not with you the only thing I can feel is a tightness in my chest, a deep and gorgeous thirst for your angelic presence. The moment I can bask in it once more, a grin creeps across my face and I can feel angels hoisting my heart to the heavens. When we drink together, you think me a lightweight, but my secret is this: you intoxicate me already. 2) Loss: It was over. You were gone. And in my sorrow I took to the hills, to clear my head, to wonder why, to escape the city noise. The songs of the birds no longer sounded sweet, but shattered, bitter, and hurt. Breathing in, fresh mountain air filled the hole in my heart. Breathing out, left that hole twice as empty. T...

1: I awoke to birds deep in song, singing that sweet, 'twas your beauty they must have gazed upon. Soft as the lark, sweet as nightingale They sang of your praises, fair and hale. But my sadness grew deep when I opened mine eyes, for quickly I realized you not at my side and I let out a deep dozen sighs. "Take heart," 'Twas what I said to myself, "you'll see her again, and soon to be sure" Alas, but not soon enough... 2: Though our situation is unique It's filled my heart with bliss However filled with newness my feelings It's provided a lifetime's worth of joy Sordid and scattered as our lives may be Us, together means the world to me And so I say, Sweetly, Softly, Simply, I love you. And for that I wouldn't trade the world.

I hadn't planned on another short story this month, but I couldn't sleep and a short story leapt out of me. It's shorter than I wanted it to be, but that's what you get when I'm doing this suddenly at two in the morning with no warning or planning. One of the fondest memories I had of my grandfather before he passed away were the times we’d spend out in the front yard. I was about six or seven and he would sit in a foldout chair under the shade of the old, wooden garage door and watch me ride my bike up and down the sidewalk. I’d blaze by as fast as I could and he’d slap his hand to his forehead and make some kind of exclamation, usually, “Wow!” We lived with my grandparents then and this was the closest thing I felt I’d had to bonding time with him. Sure, we’d watch cartoons and he’d watch us play and things like that, but for some reason, our time in the front yard with him watching me bike back and forth seemed incredibly special. Soon, he would wa...