The stories of Bryan Young

This was a stream of conscious short story I wrote. Hope you like it. My eyes are getting heavy, my cheeks are getting warm. I can feel the cruel mistress of sleep pulling me closer and closer into an embrace with her. I’m slipping to one side, going slack, losing cognitive capabilities, drifting. I didn’t think my eyes could get any heavier… … … I jerk my head up. I think I dozed off there for a second. Oh. There goes the focus in my eyes and now there are two glasses of water in front of me; the real one and his translucent twin. I want… … … … What? I don’t even remember finishing my last though. Did I finish my last thought? … … I need to get to bed. Sleep deprivation is a very serious situation. Especially if you’re driving. I’m not driving… … … I’m going to hit the curb! Oh. I must have dozed off again. Shit. I have to stay awake. What’s so damned hard about that? I just want to remain conscious. Is that so much to ask? … … … … SNORE! What? What was that? Was t...

It turns out that I really like writing stories like this. I think I could blame Graham Greene as much as anybody. And Kurt Vonnegut had one story like this and I think it's one of my favorites. But it just feels so good to pour stuff like this onto paper. It stings. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. I tell myself it shouldn’t. That dulls it a bit. I reassure myself and that dulls it a bit more. But it never goes away. We’re not together and it shouldn’t hurt. We have no obligation to each other. It doesn’t matter. That’s what I tell myself. I tell myself I’m just not that type of guy. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach when I finally noticed that she’d disappeared with another man. It wasn’t exactly jealousy that gripped my heart and kicked me in the gut. It was that foolish longing, that hope that if things were slightly different, that could be me in there, holding her close, kissing passionately, hands delicately wandering. But, alas, it isn’t me. Could it ever...

Just so everyone knows, I found this in a stack of old books and magazines. This got published in a magazine of student publications when I was a junior in High School. I didn't spend very much time on it then and I refrained from doing as little as possible to it in inserting it into the computer so you might see how my writing has evolved in the last decade. Enjoy. You walk through the tall weeds, stooping down. Your hind legs propel you smoothly, your fore-legs balance you correctly. Your fur rustles in anticipation as you examine your prey from a distance. It moves slowly and sluggishly but it can be fast as needed. You edge toward it as your father taught you, making little noise. It doesn’t notice you. You circle to the left, gliding out of the tall weeds and into the tall grass. The green, unshorn grass crackles and bristles beneath you as you motion forward as your keen sense of hearing alerts you to the presence of something behind you. You glance backward; your slan...

During the movie it felt as though they were sitting with a seat between them. Marion had planned on ending what little relationship they had months ago, but the puppy-dog look in Luke’s eyes always managed to keep her around a little while longer. She wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone with any amount of weight to it, all she needed were friends and confidantes; people to be there for her. She reached a point in her life where the arms of a man held no comfort for her. Luke had made the unfortunate mistake of buying tickets to a comedy. Neither of them laughed during the film. The palpable tension between them made the funny movie seem sad. He’d suspected what was coming, but didn’t know when. She knew it was coming, but didn’t know when the courage to do it would be there. The credits of the film ended. Neither of them had the inclination to rise before then. Luke stood first, shaking his head. “It was….uh…a good movie.” “Sure.” She didn’t know ...