Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    A Breath of Fiction
    A Breath of Fiction
    A Breath of Fiction
    Ebook188 pages2 hours

    A Breath of Fiction

    By Gregory M. Fox

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    A Breath of Fiction is a unique collection, since each of the 200 stories contained in the volume is made up of exactly 200 words. The stories range in mood from serious to enigmatic to poignant to silly. Some stories closely examine ordinary moments that might easily be overlooked in the course of a day or a lifetime. Other stories open a window to the fantastic and to the impossible. But all of the stories are concerned with what it means to experience life. The beauty of these very short stories, grouped into twelve different thematic categories, is that a reader may choose to read as much or as little as they choose at a time. Since these stories were originally posted online (on the blog also titled A Breath of Fiction), they are meant to be accessible for a brief moment of reading, or for a complete immersion in the variety of stories and experiences presented in these pages.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGregory M. Fox
    Release dateAug 10, 2014
    ISBN9781310504853
    A Breath of Fiction
    Author

    Gregory M. Fox

    Gregory M. Fox is a husband and father, an author, artist, and educator from South Bend, Indiana.

    Related to A Breath of Fiction

    Related ebooks

    Short Stories For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      The Paper Wasp

      Jun 3, 2019

      The Paper Wasp
      13 min read

    • Article

      The Inventions of Witches

      Oct 30, 2017

      The Inventions of Witches
      7 min read

    • Article

      Six Poems

      Jul 1, 2018

      When I said, to my mother, What was a goodthing about me as a child?, my mother’sface seemed to unfurl from the center,hibiscus in fast motion, the anthersand flounces springing out with joy. Oh you wereenchanting, she breathed. What do you mean—craz

      5 min read

    • Article

      Nick Laird

      Dec 15, 2017

      I was trying to write like an adult.I had children.I was at the end of something. As I waited at my table by the window for the coffee,I saw that the sirocco had depositeda scrim of dust on the sill overnight,and it was the dark red of powdered blood

      3 min read

    • Article

      Jude THE OBSCURE

      Jun 18, 2021

      Jude THE OBSCURE
      5 min read

    • Article

      Sharon Olds, America’s Brave Poet of the Body

      Mar 8, 2017

      Sharon Olds can still remember how furious editors became when she started submitting her poems, 40 years ago. “They came back often with very angry notes,” the 74-year-old poet says, sitting in her small, light-filled apartment overlooking NYU’s cam

      16 min read

    • Article

      How Being a Ghostwriter Has Shaped My Fiction

      Jun 15, 2022

      What you discover in one aspect of your work is bound to follow you into another. The post How Being a Ghostwriter Has Shaped My Fiction appeared first on The Millions.

      5 min read

    • Article

      What’s the Point?

      Sep 23, 2019

      What’s the Point?
      5 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Jan 1, 2023

      Mythological Creature Ryan Coppa, age 9 Shaker Heights, OH The Day with Cerberus “But it’s unfair!” I protested. “For the last time, no World Series tickets,” Dad explained. I stomped to my room, not turning back. When I entered my room, I saw a m

      11 min read

    • Article

      Testaments Of Youth

      Mar 9, 2022

      The majority of adults believe they become better people as they grow older. So said the Harvard psychologist Daniel Schacter, in his excellent study The Seven Sins of Memory (2001). But that process, he adds, requires us to mark down our younger sel

      3 min read

    • Article

      Books

      May 15, 2023

      Books
      6 min read

    • Article

      Dark Tales

      Dec 2, 2021

      Dark Tales
      6 min read

    • Article

      A Vision of Empathy: On Watching ‘Angels in America’

      Mar 20, 2019

      I emerge into daylight, my thoughts swimming as well as my sight. Everyone around me is stunned and exhausted. The post A Vision of Empathy: On Watching ‘Angels in America’ appeared first on The Millions.

      9 min read

    • Article

      Hollywood, Ending

      Feb 13, 2018

      Hollywood, Ending
      7 min read

    • Article

      Stranger Places

      Aug 9, 2018

      It began like any normal pregame in the woods. Naked, alone, hungover, a sweaty sleeping bag in the back of a dusty pickup truck, miles from civilization. Predawn in a narrow Utah river bottom, canyon country, early July. A Thermos of lukewarm coffee

      18 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Jan 1, 2020

      Ivy Lugbill, age 8 Indianapolis, IN I was so excited! My dad and I were going camping! After we packed all our stuff, my dad said, “Hop in!” I grabbed the paper towel roll binoculars I had been making and jumped into the car. It was a really . . . re

      7 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems by Phillip B. Williams

      Dec 15, 2017

      The masters are yet dead. Wanting to be human,I tried to rewrite The Waste Land. The canon’s reachcasts ruinous light. The masters’ pens breachthis page where, above, my own hand spectates. Babylonrisen, exorcism in reverse, whose nature upended now?

      6 min read

    • Article

      Two Poems

      Nov 1, 2018

      In a hotel in a small town in Norfolk I am listening to someonethrowing glass bottles into a metal bin: toss-shatter, toss-shatter.There are no other sounds; it’s a quiet afternoonbut the one tossing them has a sense of rhythm and I havea sense that

      5 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for A Breath of Fiction

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      A Breath of Fiction - Gregory M. Fox

      A Breath of Fiction

      Volume I: The First 200 Stories

      Gregory M. Fox

      17 October 2010-10 August 2014

      Copyright 2014 by Gregory M. Fox

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

      Table of Contents

      Air

      Fiction, Constellations, Lifted, Transcend, Shot, Closed, Breath, Tightrope, Something, Hold, Coaster, Singing, Bubbles, Song, Flash, Horizon, Sky

      Fire

      Flame, Sigh, Blaze, Fusion, Fire, Lights, Sides, Sip, Combustion, Star, Bullet, Box, Wanderer, Numbers, Sparks, Tenderly, Wish

      Water

      Fragile, Puddle, Flotsam, Missing (i), Water, Restaurant, Spike, Shelter, Ice, Rain, Cubes, Spinning, River, Sprinklers, Colors, Serene, Catch, Inundation

      Earth

      Stones, Petrichor, Pear, First, Answers, Visitors, Awakening, Blind, Pudding, Funeral, Scrape, Fatherhood, Riddle, Pendulum, Pine, Beating, Metro

      Animal

      Selection, Housebroken, Lost, Remains, Waiting (i), Spill, Headlights, Thunder, Boss, Laugh, Raccoon, Wings, Constrict, Illumination, Leash, Bernard

      Vegetable

      Gate, Picnic, Iris, Cotton, Green, Stains, Missing (ii), Cascade, Veil, Maple, Ivy, Flowers, Woven, Chainsaw, Leaves

      Mineral

      Sand, Fine, Gold, Porcelain, Directions, Change, Knife, Sensation, Part, Break, Silver, Oasis, Enough, Hands

      Mind

      Want, Last, Page, Milk, Copy, Reflection, Stories, Amber, Spot, Memory, Troubleshooting, Dial, Prolific, Go, Alone

      Body

      Bandage, Knell, Cough, Reunion, Store, Dance, Impact, Mess, Dissolution, Oils, Sawdust, Fingers, Hair, Stab, Expect, Haunted, Body, Road, Left, Kiss, Embrace

      Heart

      Pump, Mail, Breakfast, Ring, Knock, Notes, Choice, Visit, Bitter, Silence, Gift, Sleepover, Meeting, Doors, Warrantee, Waiting (ii)

      Soul

      Help, Worlds, Summer, Neck, Look, Judgment, Aboard, Tone, Thanksgiving, Morning, Remembrance, End, Miracle, Tears, Call, Blood, Peace

      Time

      Shadow, Time, Okay, Cages, Soup, Dust, Tug, Entropy, Script, Ghosts, Travelers, Steeped, Home, Moan, Rings, Lightyears, Waking

      About the Author

      Read More

      Acknowledgments

      Air

      Section I:

      Fiction

      Are we the same or different? you say.

      I answer, I don’t really know.

      I know we’ve all got separate bodies, and we love or hate each other for it. But they say there’s just a 0.1% genetic variation between every human on earth. We meet at grocery stores; we meet on streets; we meet in motel rooms and board rooms and bathrooms. We kiss or we fight or we walk right on by, and then we tell the story, pretending it’s ours alone.

      I entered the second act of your life, and I’ll disappear before it’s done, but you were my inciting action, and I’ll be that for someone else. So, I can’t tell whose plot is whose, whose line is whose, who’s the star, and who’s supporting.

      The air in my lungs was in yours five years ago; before that, it was in the mouth of the medic who saved your life, before that, it was somewhere above Alaska; before that . . .

      Separate, together, we’re living. We’re telling a story. We’re whispering it in our laughs, our punches, our tears. We’re screaming it in our shivers, our slow dances, our silences. Each breath a fiction that tells the truth.

      Constellations

      She travelled only at night and used the streetlamps to navigate. Her ancestors had followed the stars, but a hazy orange glow had long since washed them from the sky, so she had needed to find a new map—new constellations to guide her. Alone in her vessel she drove between these clusters of light. To get to the grocery store she went east for three streetlamps, north forty-for seven streetlamps, then east for fifteen streetlamps. Work was west for twenty-nine streetlamps, north for fifty streetlamps, then east for ten streetlamps. Her parents’ house was over 2,750 streetlamps to the south.

      One day, a wind came, and blew for hours so strongly that houses shifted off their foundations, that pigs with a running start could fly short distance, and that power lines snapped like cheap thread. That night the power lines failed to come on. Without the blaze of those fluorescents, she had no bearing—no direction. So she drove. She drove until she reached the end of the world, and then just kept on driving. For the first time in years, she charted a new course, her car sailing among the stars she was seeing for the first time.

      Lifted

      Agnes wasn’t looking at him, but at the hazy blue horizon. Somewhere along that line where heaven and earth met was her future. With hope and determination emanating from her, it almost seemed like she could already see her destination. Paul’s shaking voice pulled her back into the present.

      And what am I supposed to do? he asked.

      Like a cool breeze, she wrapped herself around him and whispered, I wish I could tell you that, but it’s for you to decide. Softly, she kissed him. I’m not asking you to follow me.

      I know, he replied. But that’s the only way . . . Her hand was already slipping out of his as the gap between them widened. Now? he asked. Does it have to be now?

      Agnes nodded. Goodbye, Paul. Maybe someday we’ll meet again. She turned away and with one flap of her enormous wings launched herself into the sky. Through his tears, Paul watched as she flew ever higher and farther, becoming a distant speck that merged with the horizon. Teeth clenched, he started running toward that line. He ran faster and faster, until wings larger than an eagle’s sprang from his back and lifted him into the air.

      Transcend

      Like a soldier peeping out of a foxhole, the girl’s eyes darted up from her book. She scanned the coffee shop furtively, both fearing and hoping that one of the times she looked at someone, their eyes would be looking back.

      She was particularly interested in the boy the next table over. Here again, she thought. Every Saturday, and always with a sketchbook. I wonder what he’s drawing. I wonder if he’s drawing me. Her thoughts grew like a vine, grabbing onto any nearby idea, twisting her imagination into a gnarled tangle of daydreams.

      The girl felt something mounting inside her. At first she thought it was the abstract longing for connection, the kind one feels in a crowd of strangers. Then she realized it was something much more tangible.

      Ah-CHOO!

      It was not a particularly loud sneeze, but it was violent. For a moment she was nothing but a mass of flailing limbs. Once she’d regained her composure, she heard a voice from the next table over.

      Bless you.

      There it is, she thought. A connection. Before we were two entirely separate people and now we’ve transcended ourselves.

      The next table over, the boy was thinking, My coffee’s cold.

      Shot

      Every moment is composed of smaller moments, and the moment that defined Hank McAvery’s youth was made up of three.

      The first was the in-bound pass. Freshman Dougie Sheffield threw it in because Red Stevens had fouled out in the third quarter. It was a perfect bounce pass right beneath the six-foot-six wingspan of Westfield’s All-American forward Percy Jones and into the hands of Hank McAvery.

      The second moment was when Hank turned toward the hoop and left the world of gravity behind. He inhaled deeply the perfume of sweat and leather that clung to him, lifted the ball and launched himself into the air. That twenty-one ounce sphere left his hands like a prayer bound for heaven and sailed through the air like Noah’s dove. For that moment within a moment, the world was silent.

      The final moment was when gravity reasserted its dominion over the world. The ball began its downward arc—Hanks’s feet hit the floor—the buzzer sounded—the ball, which had flown so beautifully, fell nine feet wide of the basket, knocking over a Westfield cheerleader. Hank, too, continued his descent, collapsing on the hardwood floor where he would remain for the next two hours.

      Closed

      A dozen people told me what they saw—how you stood on the roof, pushed against the sky like a trap door, and disappeared onto the other side. Everyone who saw it was baffled, but not enough to call it a miracle. It was too abrupt. No bright flash; no puff of smoke. Just a click and a thump, and you were gone.

      I didn’t want to believe it. I still don’t. But it’s been six months now, and you still haven’t come back. So, either you really are gone, or you don’t want me anymore. I don’t know which world would be worse to live in. I don’t know why you left without telling me.

      There are always rumors about a second attempt. Disaffected teens throw stones at the sky. But no one follows you. No one thinks it’s possible—not even the people who saw it happen.

      Whenever there’s a new moon, I go to that field behind the old church. I look up at the sky, trying to see what you saw the night you told me that everything had changed. I look up at the million points of light. How could they be anything but stars?

      Breath

      They say you have the breath.

      Who says?

      Answer the question.

      A little, I said.

      The lieutenant pursed his lips. Follow me. He led me through the war-torn streets to a small, dark house. Inside, a group of officers were huddled around a bloody figure stretched out on a table. Apparently it was a grenade. They had removed all the shrapnel but the man was still dying.

      Can you do it?

      I’ve done headaches before and a couple fevers, but this . . . I shook my head. Don’t you already have someone with the breath? Someone with training?

      Of course. He’s lying on this table.

      So that was it, the healer needed a healer. I had to try. I stooped over the moaning figure, smelled the blood soaking his hair and clothes, pressed my lips to his and exhaled.

      The healer sat up suddenly, eyes wide open. I thought it had worked, but then his body started glowing.

      What is this? a major demanded. What did you do?

      I don’t know, I said. This has never happened before."

      The healer was glowing brighter, but his face was serene. He inhaled. Slowly he exhaled. And in a burst of light, he was gone.

      Tightrope

      They met while working for the circus. He was a tightrope walker, and she could do a handstand on the back of a cantering horse. She had always admired his act, but once she fell in love with him, it only made her sick.

      The drum roll.

      The spotlight.

      A wave to the crowd.

      She would beg and beg and beg him to stop. But what else can I do? he asked. I am too old to learn the trapeze, the human canon has greater risk, and I don’t even know how to juggle.

      If you loved me, you would stop.

      If you loved me, you wouldn’t ask that.

      So she grimaced each night as he climbed the narrow ladder to the high wire.

      A deep breath

      The crowd goes quiet.

      The first step.

      His balance was better than hers. She tripped getting off the train, sprained her ankle and cracked her wrist. Her career was over. She had loved performing, but when she no longer could, it only brought her pain to be around it. She was leaving the circus, and she asked him to come. But what else can I do?

      The rope begins to sag.

      It trembles.

      Something

      What’re you looking at? Harold asked.

      Dana had stopped eating—a noodle still on her fork. Her gaze was fixed beyond him. Something’s happening, she said.

      What?

      Her brow furrowed. I don’t know. People are stopping in the street. They’re looking up at . . . something. The sky maybe? A building?

      He gave a half-glance over his shoulder. Why?

      How should I know, she snapped.

      Sorry, I’m sorry. Just wondering. He jabbed absent-mindedly at his chicken. It’s obviously interesting enough to distract you.

      Don’t be like that, Harold. I just mean I can’t tell, she said. It looks like it’s above us.

      His eyes drifted to the ceiling and found only a light fixture. Above us?

      Yeah, she said, still mesmerized.

      "That’s

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1