Short Stories

Faded white room, stinking of old cigar and cheap wine. What a way to spend my vacation.

It’s the middle of December and my wife kicks me out of the house and sends me to Big Bear to clear my “writer’s block.”

What I need is a drink. I haven’t written a single word since I got here. What I did do was sit and slouch on the bed.

Why didn’t she come along? I guess she’d just be a distraction....

-CLUK- -TINK-

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Months? Everyone in my platoon is either dead or had run away.

All that's left is one lousy sniper and God knows how many of them. What would Gunther do?