the world & words of a new york city writer

gretchen is a writer in new york city

Category: short story (page 10 of 19)

the hanged man. 13 of 22.

the hanged man

Our business brought psychological comfort to myself, Anthony and our clients. When Anthony could tell that I had accepted mediumship he asked me a question that altered me all over, “Do you know who it is that you’re hearing?”

I wanted to tell you in a different way…

It was my father.

Anthony supported this fact with more details. He taught me about guides, unseen spirits. “They come and go you know,” he preached. “You don’t have the same one all of the time. Your father has always been in and out of your life, you could always tell, I’m sure.”

He was right. Continue reading

justice. 12 of 22.

justice

You must know that I wanted to chase you. Follow you off the train. Tell that dreadful red-head beckoning you to seek other interests.

Tell you all of this then.

But that was impossible. Too many consequences.

I was concerned you might mistake my keen balance of emotion and rationality as being phlegmatic. I sent you three dozen long stem roses with no card. When you asked the red-head who sent them, you received a bashful smile and eye-blink in return.

Knowing that didn’t make me jealous. I am not a jealous person.

Do you understand our history in this city yet?

I wanted to tell you sooner. Continue reading

the wheel of fortune. 11 of 22.

wheel of fortune

I was not expecting to see you that day, riding the subway, sitting across from me.

You are one of the only things capable of truly surprising me.

I tried not to stare at you. I nervously tapped my foot. I pretended to read. I acted like I wasn’t eavesdropping when someone with red hair leant in close to you and said, “This feels like it’s taking forever. How many more stops?”

And you said, “Only a few more darling. My place is on Orchard Street.”

Then you looked at me while the stranger bit your ear. You were surprised that neither of us looked away. You tilted your head to the left.

I did not smile. I did not blink. Continue reading

the hermit. 10 of 22.

the hermit

During the four weeks prior to moving in with Anthony I only left my apartment a handful of times. I stayed inside reading books and sitting in silence. Although the silence I refer to does not fall into any category of isolation’s hush.

I was listening quite closely.

I would have stayed if I had known. I would have been more careful.

I read books by Richard Cavendish and Aleister Crowley. I listened to Tibetan chants. I fasted for days at a time. I considered approaching you.

I knew where you were. Closer than ever before. Continue reading

strength. 9 of 22.

strength

Anthony immediately verified the only facts I knew about my father. “He was born in Egypt. He left your mother before you were born. He was a brilliant Physicist.”

He followed up these statements with what I was unaware of. Things I may have not been ready to hear. “Your mother never told him she was pregnant with you. He was in a fatal car accident eleven years ago.”

A warmness covered me from head to toe. The lights in the church flickered. Anthony smiled at me. And somehow I understood that what he was telling me was the only information that would enable me to move forward. Continue reading

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