The short fiction of j hardy carroll
“Whenever I came home, she was usually standing right here.” “Almost always.” He sat smoking at the kitchen table. The cartons he had brought were stacked against the wall, still folded up. He had neglected to buy packing tape. “It made it hard to sneak past if I’d been in a fight at school.” “You used to…
I waited for Sunday to roll over me, crash its waves into my chest and tumble me to the shore. A hard laugh catches in my throat, comes out as a mangled rattle. I forget what was funny, what I was even thinking. I walk to the window. The Korean neighbor pulls out of his driveway. He takes the corner too…
Last thing I remember was being angry that Janie was late. I decided to make it a double. After that, nothing. You probably heard the stories about me. Somebody like me. The guy who gets tossed from the bar by a pair of bouncers, the guy who is 2AM drunk at 8:30. Hilarious, legendary. But for me,…
I suppose I knew about it for some weeks before I saw what I saw. At first I wasn’t sure. See something like that, you don’t want to believe it, though it’s right in front of your eyes. Then all the pieces fall together in your head, like the tumblers in a safe when you…
Impressed and unafraid, she walked right to the edge and looked over, returned to me smiling. “How long have you known about this place?” I shrugged. My brother used to take me up here, but I didn’t want to say that because the next thing she’d ask those questions: You have a brother? Are you…
You ever stop to think that your whole life might hang on a decision you don’t actually decide? That your fate, everything that will happen to you from this point forward, hangs from a thread no thicker than a spider’s web? Of course you don’t. Nobody does. You go through you day on automatic pilot,…
“You know what Jamey said about you?” “Your brother? He’s never even met me.” “About all you Yanks, actually. He said you’re overpaid, oversexed and over here.” “Not original, but true enough for now. Doesn’t change how I feel about you.” She pushed away a wisp of hair, fire-red in the rare sunlight. “So it’s not just…
Her expression is wrong. And her hair. For the first time, he is glad she is dead. This would have upset her. He goes to the bathroom to wash his hands. They smell like the funeral director’s oily aftershave– flowers and death. He washes them twice, sniffs his fingers. The smell won’t go away. He…
The old man was as greedy with his bottle as he was lazy with his seniority. Still, he was company. And such stories! Geoffrey took his own bottle from his pocket, raised it. “Cheers.” “Bumpers,” said the old man. He drained his pint in a long swallow, holding the empty bottle at length to be sure…
Richaud picked his way down the stairs. Breakfast was included in the pension, and despite her many failings, Madame Flir made acceptable coffee. The stairwell stank of cabbage. Richaud lit a Gauloises to negate this everyday irritation. He settled into the chair as Madame Flir set down the bowl of coffee and pitcher of hot milk.…