Weird Shorts

Weird Shorts
Short Stories and other Literary Brief's from an Odd Point of View
(OURS!)
Ginae B. McDonald
and
Katie Maud Stephan

(c) Copyright 2007 Ginae B. McDonald and Katie Maud Stephan A
JustGinae.Com publication
Fort Worth, Texas, 2007 http://www.justginae.com
Front & back covers designed by Ginae B. McDonald
(c) Copyright 2007, Ginae B. McDonald & Katie Maud Stephan Some
rights below
Creative Commons License
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Published by JustGinae.com Fort Worth, Texas
FORWARD:
Every piece between these covers belong to me, with the exception of
Chapter 4, each of which are the individual masterpiece's of Katie
Maud Stephan, who is a gifted fantasy writer. She's the only writer in
this genre that has ever attracted my attention and I am so grateful for
her input, advice, efforts and writing genius.
Warmly, I dedicate this book to her, Katie Maud Stephan.

INDEX:
Chapter 1.
Dissociation
A Jet Flew Over My Head
Box Kite
Crickets
Easter Egg
I Hear a Heater
Karla's Bacon
Rumble of the Halsey-Taylor
Chapter 2.
Dreams

Conversation With Norm
Indian Street Market
Chapter 3.
Weird Fiction
My New Tattoo
Red Curtain
The Buttahfly Guild
Chapter 4.
Short Stories by Katie Maud Stephan
Coming to Terms
Making it Right
The Old Black Dude
Chapter 5.
Rhyme
Clock
Explanation of Me
Numbers
The Other Side of the Window
THEM
Ticking

Timex
Chapter 6.
Real Life
Funeral Dog
Prehistoric Hare
Chapter 1.
Dissociation
These tales tell the tale of dissociation. This is what it's like to be
dissociative. It's not all bad, if you're aware that you're losing time. Not
all dissociative's are aware of the dissociation, as it occurs.
Dissociation is a normal part of mental life. For example, sometimes
after a telephone conversation I find I have been doodling and have
unconsciously produced an intricate drawing.
Michael Grosso, Broken Images, Broken Selves: Dissociative
Narratives in Clinical Practice
A JET FLEW OVER MY HEAD
Clack. Clack. Backspace. Clack.
A jet flew over my head and there's me, my sister and a cousin, sitting
on an odd see-saw in the backyard. Mother had just taken clothes off of
the line, so that we could all play there. It's hot and I'm holding my
beloved Whiskers, whose remains are still just behind the back fence.
Clack. Clack. Backspace. Clack.
I love that photo. It's out of focus and faded. One of the corners is
folded back and it's in a dirty, yellow-paged photo album. But, it's one

of my favorites.
BOX KITE
Hoping to escape undetected, Richard runs up the hill, with the sound
of laughter and cheers, in the background. Panting, he reaches the
grassy peak and peers down, below. MORE people! Arrgh! Sighing, he
wonders if he can escape the masses, just for a moment of peace. Still
panting, he rests comfortable on the sand and grass and something
materializes in the corner of his right eye. It's a kite. A box kite. His
mind slows for a second and he's suddenly in eighth grade, tracing a
pattern for his box kite, in Art class. Maria the beautiful is to his right
and Donna the bully is to his left. He's frustrated by the physical
boundaries. If I make this line too long in this direction, he'll pound me
and if I make it too long in the other direction, then, Maria will know
that I like her.
"Richard! Richard!"
Quickly, he makes his way back down the hill, and returns to all those
people.
CRICKETS
Bzzzzzzztttttt!
"Helen!"
Suddenly aware of the bosses voice on the intercom, Helen is jarred.
"Would you step into my office for a moment, please?"
For a brief moment, the sound of crickets rang in her ear.
"Right away, Sir."
Her left heel gives as she rises and she thinks that she's going to fall
backwards, before she takes a step forward. Quickly re-adjusting and
proceeding forward, the crickets seemed louder in that moment.

She opens the door to his office, with her next step.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Thornberry."
"Afternoon, Helen," he pauses then asks her to have a seat.
"Th-thanks," she started to feel nervous. My numbers have been down
for the past year and I was the last person hired, in my department.
Helen sighs on the inside, trying not to let it show on her face.
"How are you today?"
"Fine, Sir."
Taking a